|Looking up suddenly, I found mine eyes|
Confronted with the minster’s vast repose . . .
I stood before the triple northern port,
Where dedicated shapes of saints and kings,
Stern faces bleared with immemorial watch,
Looked down benignly grave and seemed to say,—
|Ye come and go incessant; we remain|
Safe in the hallowed quiets of the past;
Be reverent, ye who flit and are forgot,
Of faith so nobly realized as this.
|—Lowell: The Cathedral.|