Chartres Windows
By Rudyard Kipling
Colour fulfils where Music has no power:
By each mans light the unjudging glass betrays
All mens surrender, each mans holiest hour
And all the lit confusion of our days
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 trod
Even as the Spirit, in her deeps and heights,
Turns only, and that voiceless, to her God
There falls no tincture from those anguished lights.
And Heavens one light, behind them, striking through
Blazons what each man dreamed no other knew.