Classic Poem

In Blois Cathedral, shunning care's restraint,
In twilight hours I oft have sighed, alas!
When gazing on its wondrous colored glass,
Emblazoned with bright forms of god and saint.

When, pensive, through the lofty aisles I pass,
I seem to see a subtle life-tint faint
Steal o'er their cheeks whene'er the solemn plaint
Of claustral voices chants the vesper mass.

And the strange thought will cling unto my mind,
How the dead artists, who their charms have made,
Live in those panes before me, side by side;
Some as pale martyrs, some apostles kind;
All in rare, radiant robes of light arrayed,
Guarding the shrines their art has beautified.