Page:Studies in Song - Swinburne (1880).djvu/95

 The weft of the night, At the sound of the strings of the music of morning, falls dumb with delight.

He gives forth his word, And the word that he saith, Ere well it be heard, Strikes darkness to death; For the thought of his heart is the sunrise, and dawn as the sound of his breath.

And the strength of its pulses That passion makes proud Confounds and convulses The depths of the cloud Of the darkness that heaven was engirt with, divided and rent as a shroud,