They climbed on sketchy ladders towards God,
with winch and pulley hoisted hewn rock into heaven,
inhabited the sky with hammers,
defied gravity,
...
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Seeing the flames engulf Notre dame, I've been re-reading this beautiful poem with tears stinging my eyes.
I'm reading this poem on the eve of the fire at Notre Dame de Paris as the immaculate work of thousands of cathedral builders whose names we don’t know, is reduced to ash. In the face of this loss for humanity, I send my thanks to them and the poet for articulating my appreciation beautifully.
I'm reading this poem on the eve of the fire at Notre Dame de Paris as the immaculate work of thousands of cathedral builders whose names we don’t know is being reduced to ash. In the face of this loss for humanity, I send my thanks to them and the poet for articulating my appreciation beautifully.
This poem brought tears to my eyes. I'm a tradesman and been working on Inigo Jones's church at Covent Garden for fifteen years. When I finally can't climb the sketchy ladders anymore I want this poem read at my funeral. Beautiful! ! !