The young-voiced choir, in silver-throated peals,
Filling the night with ecstasy. They stood
Bareheaded in the dark deserted street,
Outcasts from all that innocence within,
And silent; till the last celestial cry,
Like one great flight of angels, ebbed away.
III
THE SHADOW OF PASCAL
At daybreak they pressed on. Strange hills arose
Clustering before them, hills whose fragrant turf,