Chartres
Windows







Colour fulfils where Music has no power:
By each manís light the unjudging glass betrays
All menís surrender, each manís holiest hour
And all the lit confusion of our daysó
Purfled with iron, traced in dusk and fire,
Challenging ordered Time who, at the last,
Shall bring it, grozed and leaded and wedged fast,
To the cold stone that curbs or crowns desire.
Yet on the pavement that all feet have trodó
Even as the Spirit, in her deeps and heights,
Turns only, and that voiceless, to her Godó
There falls no tincture from those anguished lights.
And Heavenís one light, behind them, striking through
Blazons what each man dreamed no other knew.