As one who, groping in a narrow stair, <br />Hath a strong sound of bells upon his ears, <br />Which, being at a distance off, appears <br />Quite close to him because of the pent air: <br />So with this France. She stumbles file and square <br />Darkling and without space for breath: each one <br />Who hears the thunder says: “It shall anon <br />Be in among her ranks to scatter her.” <br />This may be; and it may be that the storm <br />Is spent in rain upon the unscathed seas, <br />Or wasteth other countries ere it die: <br />Till she,—having climbed always through the swarm <br />Of darkness and of hurtling sound,—from these <br />Shall step forth on the light in a still sky.<br /><br />Dante Gabriel Rossetti<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-staircase-of-notre-dame-paris/
