PRELUDE

Out of the west when the sun was dying

Clouds of white wings came flying, flying,

Wheeling and whirling they swept away

Into the heart of the eastern gray;

But one white dove came straight to my breast

Out of the west.

Into the west when the dawn was pearly

Clouds of white wings went, dewy-early,

Straight from the world of the waning stars;

O beating pinions! O prison bars!

My dove flies free no more with the rest

Into the west.