( " L'Occident etait blanc. " )

Bright white the West, dense black the Eastern sky:
As some invisible arm from heaven let fall,
To serve eve's columns for a canopy,
O'er this horizon a shroud, o'er that a pall.

Night shut in earth, as 'twere a prison cold.
Last plaint of bird, last light of leaf, were quenched.
Descending, again I looked toward heaven — behold!
In the low West a bright blade shone, blood-drenched.

That made me muse of some vast duel dread
Fought by a God matched 'gainst some giant-birth:
The awful sword o' the vanquished one had said,
Bloodied with battle, fallen from heaven to earth!