I love high churches,
soul humbling, visit,
Enter the gloomy choirs,
In the crowd singing fade.
I'm afraid of my two-faced soul
And gently bury
His image diabolical and wild
In this very sacred armor.
In his prayer, superstitious
Seeking refuge in Christ,
But from under the mask of hypocritical
Lying lips are laughing.
And quiet, with a modified face,
In the flicker of candles deathly,
I wake up the memory of the two-faced
In the hearts of worshipers,
Here - shudder, silent choirs,
In disarray fled…
I love high churches,
soul humbling, visit.
8 April 1902
