Iii

We are old.... Old as song.... We are dumb song. (Epics tingled In our blood When we haled Hypatia Over the stones In Alexandria.)

Could we loose The wild rhythms clinched in us.... March in bands of troubadours.... We would be of gentle mood. When Christ healed us Who were dumb-- When he freed our shut-in song-- We strewed green palms At his pale feet... We sang hosannas In Jerusalem. And all our fumbling voices blent In a brief white harmony. (But a mightier song Was in us pent When we nailed Christ To a four-armed tree.)