It is noon. The church is open. I must go in.
Mother of our Lord, I have not come to pray.
I have nothing to give and nothing to ask.
I am here, my lady, only to look at you
To look at you, to cry for joy, to know
That I am your son and you are there.
Only for one moment when everything stops. Noon!
To be with you, Mary, in this place where you are.
To say nothing, to look at your face,
To let my heart sing in its own language,
To say nothing, but simply to sing because my heart is too full,
Like the blackbird which repeats its idea in that species of swift couplets
Because you are beautiful, because you are pure,
Woman of last restored in Grace,
Creature in her first honor and her final glory,
As she came from God in the morning of her original splendor
Intact ineffably because you are the Mother of Our Lord,
Who is the truth in your arms, and the one hope and the one fruit.
Because you are woman, the Eden of the ancient forgotten tenderness,
Whose eyes look suddenly Into the heart and cause the pent-up tears to flow,
Because you saved me, because you saved France,
Because France too, like myself, was for you a thing to be considered,
Because at that moment when everything collapsed, you intervened,
Because you saved France once again,
Because it is noon, because we are at this moment of today,
Because you are there for always, simply because you
are Mary, simply because you exists,
Mother of Our Lord, we give Thanks to you!
— Paul Claudel