Playing moon
Precosia comes
along a ery patal lights.
tarless silence, fleeing
from ambourine,
falls whe sea whips and sings,
filled h silvery swarms.
op tain peaks
tinels are weeping;
tall owers
of te.
And gypsies of ter
for t
little castles of conch shells
and arbors of greening pine.
Playing moon
Precosia comes.
the wind sees her and rises,
t never slumbers.
Naked Saint Copher swells,
che girl as he plays
ongues of celestial bells
on an invisible bagpipe.
Gypsy, let me lift your skirt
and you.
Open in my ancient fingers
the blue rose of your womb.
Precosia tambourine
and runs aerror.
But the virile wind pursues her
hing and burning sword.
the sea darkens and roars,
urn pale.
tes of darkness sound,
and a muted gong of the snow.
Precosia, run, Precosia!
Or tch you!
Precosia, run, Precosia!
And look he comes!
A satyr of loars
ening tongues.
Precosia, filled h fear,
no house
beyond tall green pines
whe English consul lives.
Alarmed by the anguished cries,
three riflemen come running,
tightly drawn,
and berets doheir brow.
the gypsy
a glass of tepid milk
and a s of holland gin
w drink.
And hem, weeping,
of range adventure,
the wind furiously gnashes
against te roof tiles.