Was conquered. Not a god had ever gone there,
Not one of these high seven, in the old
Dark sail time. Now, invisible to waves,
To men and birds, they watched twelve grimy sailors
Washing their clothes on deck; and wondered still
At the two wakes behind them, foam and funnel.
But who were these arriving, these gaunt three
On giant wings that folded as they fell
And staggered, then stood upright? Even now
Michael had dropped among them, with his archangel