The Man who was there

I stood like the soldier and lifted my eyes
To the great Gothic dame who broods on the place,
Her windows full darkened and heavy with sighs
Well learned from the whispers of Adam's sad race.

The monstrous Parisian night swam around
And grey touched the grey all over the sky
While the woman of stone rose up from the ground
Suspended like Christ: and the people passed by.

But still like the soldier, as darkness drew near
And shadowed the place where the blood is out-poured,
I waited in silence and shivered in fear
Beholding the mother, beholding her Lord.

The looming cathedral was thrashed by the rain:
Yet now not the stone nor the night was in view
But the body of Christ was seen quaking in pain
As the Holy of Holies was broken quite through

I stared like the soldier, undone by the sight
of light bursting through all the devilish air,
And spite of the hate of the crowd, and the night,
Was gladly alone with the Man who was there.