I heard the song of breath And lost it in all sharp voices, Even my own voice lost Like a thread in that huge strand, Lost like a skein of air, And with it, continents lost In the great throat of Death. I trembled, asking in vain, Whence come you, whither art gone? The continents flow and melt Like wax in the naked candle, Burnt by the wick of time⁠— Where is the breath of the Chaldees, The dark, Minoan breath? I said to myself in hate, Hearing that mighty rushing, Though you raise a new Adam up And blow fresh fire in his visage, He has only a loan of air, And gets but a breathing-space. But then I was quieted.