| Now as at all times I can see in the mind’s eye, |
| In their stiff, painted clothes, the pale unsatisfied ones |
| Appear and disappear in the blue depth of the sky |
| With all their ancient faces like rain-beaten stones, |
| And all their helms of silver hovering side by side, |
| And all their eyes still fixed, hoping to find once more, |
| Being by Calvary’s turbulence unsatisfied, |
| The uncontrollable mystery on the bestial floor. |