The huddled churches clinging on the cliffs
⁠As birds alighting might for storm's sake cling,
Moored to the rocks as tempest-harried skiffs
⁠To perilous refuge from the loud wind's wing;

The stairs on stairs that wind and change and climb
⁠Even up to the utmost crag's edge curved and curled,
More bright than vision, more than faith sublime,
⁠Strange as the light and darkness of the world;

Strange as are night and morning, stars and sun,
⁠And washed from west and east by day's deep tide.
Shine yet less fair, when all their heights are won,
⁠Than sundawn shows thy pillared mountain-side.

Even so the dawn of death, whose light makes dim
⁠The starry fires that life sees rise and set,
Shows higher than here he shone before us him
⁠Whom faith forgets not, nor shall fame forget.