By her twin belfries' bronze evangels,
Notre Dame gave notice that the apotheosis was nigh;
The distant cannons rumbled, the colors inflated, 
shivering 'neath the festival's pride.

The Emperor inclined himself, hands joined, bareheaded,
And the Pope, 'midst brilliant torches,
Made his entrance, holding 'twixt his fingers,
already sparkling with their rings,
The crown, with Latin Cross aloft.

"My son!" said the pontiff... the the organ fell silent,
Above all the lowered faces ran a sole lone shiver,
like the sudden beating of an immense wing.

And there was heard no more, o Caesar triumphant,
in the nave where an august silence wove its trances,
the weeping of a kneeling woman for her child.