This window has seen dames and lords of might,
Sparkling with gold, with azure, flame and nacre,
Bow down, before the altar of their Maker,
The pride of crest and hood to august right;

Whene'r to horn's or clarion's sound, with tight
Held sword in hand, gerfalcon or the saker,
Toward plain or wood, Byzantium or Acre,
They started for crusade or herons' flight.

Today, the seigniors near their chatelaines,
With hound low crouching at their long poulaines,
Extended lie upon the marble floor.

All still are they, voiceless and deaf; while e'er
They gaze, with stony eyes that ne'er see more,
On window's rose blooming forever there.