The white, the silent stars

Drive their wheeling ring,

Crane down out of the tall black air

To hear the swanworld sing.

But the long, deep knife is in,

(O bitter, speechless earth)

Throat grows tight, voice thin,

Blood gets no regrowth,

As night devours our days,

Death puts out our eyes,

Towns dry up and fare like tongues

But no voice prophesies.