1. The worshippers’ fire has gleamed at the monastery, and now

    night’s darkness has shed its robe from the wide field of sight.

  2. Rise, then: let us warm ourselves by it—an aged wine,

    whose scent alone takes the place of food for one chilled through—

  3. sweeter than the beloved’s glance, made rose-red

    by modesty’s blush, lavish coyness, and bashfulness.

Sol 5.6