At Notre Dame Poem by Daniel James Webster

The cardinals' hats dangle and turn
In the vaulted air,
Each one above a tomb.
And we must read the floor
To tell the name of whom
It served as a shade,
Whether to hide the jowls
Of sin and age
Or cheeks pinched
With the pain
Of steady abnegation.
And, shooting past
Every scarlet-tassled hat,
Slanting columns of light
Show up flecks of dust
That seem golden angels
Who have leapt
From their proverbial pins
To climb the covered sky,
Then drift down again,
Uncertain of where they go,
Confused, as they fly,
Clutching red-robed souls.