The Pope at Confession
by F. Scott Fitzgerald

The gorgeous Vatican was steeped in night,
The organs trembled on my heart no more,
But with a blend of colors on my sight
I loitered through a somber corridor;
When suddenly I heard behind a screen
The faintest whisper as from one in prayer;
I glanced about, then passed, for I had seen
A hushed, dim-lighted room—and two were there.
A ragged friar, half in dream's embrace,
Leaned sideways, soul intent, as if to seize
The last grey ice of sin that ached to melt
And faltered from the lips of him who knelt,
A little bent old man upon his knees
With pain and sorrow in his holy face.

As appeared in "The Crack-Up"

Перевод на русский язык: Папа на исповеди (Е. Калявина).