The columns turned from stone to birch, Enchanted forest, turned from church. The voices made for God by Man Now rose to oakleaf cross-vault span. Of words unknown in ancient tongue Cathedral echoed, magic sung. The chandeliers burst forth warm flame. Acanthus leaves no more were tame. The galleries by pillars held Became the tree homes, newly felled. In Notre Dame sat I and heard A forest’s gleam. Man’s choral word.

— ALEXANDRA WELM