Beach of old bones-The tide gasps Death-knells: croaking sound on sound . . . -Pale marsh, where the moon swallows Big worms to make the night pass. -Calm of plague, where fever Burns . . . The cursed will-o'-the-wisp fades away. -Stinking grass where the hare Is a cowardly sorcerer who flees . . . -The white Washerwoman spreads out The dead's dirty linen In the @3sun of wolves@1 . . . -The toads, Little melancholy chanters, With their colics poison The mushrooms, their stools. |