The eternal entrance into Eden Is not locked with seven precious seals; It has no charms nor light of heaven, And the people don't know that it is. It's a doorway in a wall forgotten -- Stones, moss and nothing more else, Near stands a beggar; and the rotten, Keys are hanging at his gaudy waist. Paladins ride by in agitation, Trumpets wail, and minted silver chant; Nobody spares his attention To the Peter -- the Apostle, the saint. They dream: There, by Sepulchre of Savor, Paradise will open doors for us; At the footing of the Mount Thabor The committed hour will thrust. So by the armored monster goes; In the air the trumpets ring and wail; The Apostle in the tattered cloth, Like a beggar, looks and poor and pale.