"the swans are singing again," said to one another the gods. and looking downwards, for my dreams had taken me to some fair and far valhalla, i saw below me an iridescent bubble not greatly larger than a star shine beautifully but faintly, and up and up from it looking larger and larger came a flock of white, innumerable swans, singing and singing and singing, till it seemed as though even the gods were wild ships swimming in music.

"what is it?" i said to one that was humble among the gods.

"only a world has ended," he said to me, "and the swans are coming back to the gods returning the gift of song."

"a whole world dead!" i said.

"dead," said he that was humble among the gods. "the worlds are not for ever; only song is immortal."

"look! look!" he said. "there will be a new one soon."

and i looked and saw the larks, going down from the gods.