And the old caretaker will go into the immortal ruin of the Cathedral,
And twist his hands, and smile faintly up at the face of God peering down through the great hole in the roof...
The Simons will come, who in their generations have tended the glass of the Cathedral these four hundred years and forty,
And will tell how they climbed the high vault and removed the priceless panes under the storm of the First Bombardment, and saved them, and preserved the honor of the house of Simon...
And the ghosts of the past will assemble
In vast mystical array, thronging the gashed doors and filing under the withered flower of the Rose window—
Clovis, the convert; and the Kings of France,
And Joan, most shining maid; and there will fall
A dew of tears, and a dim glamour of sword-fire, and hushed voices chanting a litany of Peace before the figure of the mutilated Christ....
VIII
In the cottage of Domremy the white-haired woman who shows the house to travelers
Will go forth with a soft step into Joan's room,
