Classic Poem

This window has seen dames and lords of might,
Sparkling with gold, with azure, flame and nacre,
Bow down before the altar of their Maker
The pride of crest and hood to sacred right,

Whene'er to horn's or clarion's sound, with tight
Held sword in hand, gerfalcon or the saker,
Toward plain or wood, Byzantium or Acre,
They started for crusade or herons' flight.

To-day, the seigniors near their chatelaines,
With hound low crouching at their long poulaines,
Upon the marble floor extended lie;

All voiceless, deaf and motionless are they,
Whose eyes of stone look on the window nigh,
Yet cannot see its rose that blooms alway.