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.