VII. NOTRE DAME

Through colored glass, on burnished walls,

Soft as a psalm, the sunlight falls;

And, in the corners, cool and dim,

Its glow is like a vesper hymn.

And, arch by arch, the ceilings high

Rise like a hand stretched toward the sky

To touch God's hand. On every side

Is misty silence; and the wide

Untroubled spaces seem to tell

That Peace is come — and all is well!

A slender woman kneels in prayer;

The sunlight slants across her hair;

A pallid child in rusty black

Stands in the doorway, looking back....

A poilu gropes ( his eyes are wide )

Along the altar rail. The tide

Of war has cast him brokenly

Upon the shore of life. I see

A girl in costly furs, who cries

Against her muff; I see her rise

And hurry out. Two tourists pause

Beside the grated chancel doors,

To wonder and to speculate;

To stoop and read a carven date.

In uniform the nations come;

Their voices are a steady hum

Until they feel some subtle thrill

That makes them falter, holds them still —

Bronzed boys, who shrugged and laughed at death,

They stand today with indrawn breath,

Half mystified.

The colors steal

Into my heart, and I can feel

The rapture that the artists knew

Who, centuries before me, drew

Their very souls into the glass

Of every window..... Hours pass

Like beads of amber that are strung

Upon a rainbow, frail and young.