I stood in ancient church, ruined and vast,
Whose crumbling altar of its Lord was bare,
Whose shattered windows let in all the glare
Of noonday heat, and noise of crowds that passed
With careless jest, of malice not assoiled.
Within, fast-fading angels still lent grace
Of art, believing, to the holy place
That cruel hands of its best gift despoiled.
With weary feet I trod the broken floor,
With tearless eyes the maimèd aisles gazed down,