A loaf of bread to eat, no more,
Inside a draughty cell of stone;
To work and read all through the night
By a single candle’s light, alone.

Just water from the rain to drink,
From dry and wrinkled bony hands;
No visions but from books I read
Of nature’s grace and foreign lands.

No glass inside my window frame,
No fire to keep me warm;
An ancient woolen cloak is all
That keeps me from a passing storm

A life of sleepless nights, of work
Inside these walls of stone
Until the day that I must die
By a single candle’s light, alone.