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 buing sword.

  the sea darkens and roars,

  u 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.