By Lionel Johnson (1867–1902)
The Saints in glorious vesture shake before the gale;
The glorious windows shake, where still they dwell enshrined;
Old Saints by long dead, shrivelled hands long since designed:
There still, although the world autumnal be, and pale,
Still in thin golden vesture the old Saints prevail;
Alone with Christ, desolate else, left by mankind.