| George Herbert Clarke, ed. (1873–1953). A Treasury of War Poetry. 1917. |
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| 77. Rheims Cathedral—1914 |
| | | By Grace Hazard Conkling |
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| A WINGÈD death has smitten dumb thy bells, | |
| And poured them molten from thy tragic towers: | |
| Now are the windows dust that were thy flowers | |
| Patterned like frost, petalled like asphodels. | |
| Gone are the angels and the archangels, | 5 |
| The saints, the little lamb above thy door, | |
| The shepherd Christ! They are not, any more, | |
| Save in the soul where exiled beauty dwells. | |
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| But who has heard within thy vaulted gloom | |
| That old divine insistence of the sea, | 10 |
| When music flows along the sculptured stone | |
| In tides of prayer, for him thy windows bloom | |
| Like faithful sunset, warm immortally! | |
| Thy bells live on, and Heaven is in their tone! | |
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