The Gypsy and the Wind

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.