Zengtek az ez�stk�rt�k a D�mon �t,

�h�tatban t�rdeltek az emberek,

S �szrevettem lehajtott fej�k felett,

Ak�r egy nagy Istent, R�ma Szent Ur�t.

Papk�nt habfeh�r pal�st fedte v�ll�t,

Kir�lyk�nt v�r�set �lt�tt mag�ra,

S fej�n volt h�rmas aranykoron�ja*:

F�ny �s dics�s�g k�s�rte a P�p�t.

Titkon visszaosont ahhoz a sz�vem

Ki a mag�nyos tengern�l k�borolt**,

�s nyugv�helyet hi�ba keresett:

’R�k�nak jut barlang, mad�rnak f�szek,

Egyed�l �n v�ndorlok kimer�lten,

L�bam sebzett, s iszom a k�nnyt�l s�s bort.’

* P�pai tiara

** J�zus Krisztus

Easter Day

THE silver trumpets rang across the Dome:
The people knelt upon the ground with awe:
And borne upon the necks of men I saw,
Like some great God, the Holy Lord of Rome.
Priest-like, he wore a robe more white than foam,
And, king-like, swathed himself in royal red,
Three crowns of gold rose high upon his head:
In splendour and in light the Pope passed home.
My heart stole back across wide wastes of years
To One who wandered by a lonely sea,
And sought in vain for any place of rest:
'Foxes have holes, and every bird its nest,
I, only I, must wander wearily,
And bruise my feet, and drink wine salt with tears.'