All night the ways of Heaven were desolate,
Long roads across a gleaming empty sky.
Outcast and doomed
and driven, you and I,
Alone, serene beyond all love or hate,
Terror or triumph, were content to wait,
silent and all-knowing. Suddenly
Swept through the heaven low-crouching from on high,
downward to the earth's low gate.
Oh, perfect from the ultimate height of living,
Lightly we turned, through wet woods blossom-hung,
the open. Down the supernal roads,
With plumes a-tossing, purple flags far flung,
Rank upon rank, unbridled,
Thundered the black battalions of the Gods.