Suns came and went, and many a mystic moon;
Wild music, and strange shadows floated by
Some moaning and some singing. So the years
Clustered about me till the hand of God
Let down the lightning from a sultry sky,
Splintered the pine and split the iron rock;
And from my odorous prison house a bird,
I in its bosom, darted; so we flew,
Turning the brittle edge of one high wave