And many voices marshalled in one hymn Wound through the night, whose still, translucent moments Lay on each side their breath; and the hymn passed Its long, harmonious populace of words Between the silvery silences, as when The slaves of Egypt, like a wind between The head and trunk of a dismembered king On a strewn plank, with blood and footsteps sealed, Vallied the unaccustomed sea. |