This window has seen dames and lords of might, <br />Sparkling with gold, with azure, flame and nacre, <br />Bow down, before the altar of their Maker, <br />The pride of crest and hood to august right; <br /> <br />Whene'r to horn's or clarion's sound, with tight <br />Held sword in hand, gerfalcon or the saker, <br />Toward plain or wood, Byzantium or Acre, <br />They started for crusade or herons' flight. <br /> <br />Today, the seigniors near their chatelaines, <br />With hound low crouching at their long poulaines, <br />Extended lie upon the marble floor. <br /> <br />All still are they, voiceless and deaf; while e'er <br />They gaze, with stony eyes that ne'er see more, <br />On window's rose blooming forever there.<br /><br />Jose Maria de Heredia<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/church-window/
