Playing    moon

        Precosia es

        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 ch shells

        and arbors of greening pine.

        Playing    moon

        Precosia es.

        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 a 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 es!

        A satyr of loars

        ening tongues.

        Precosia, filled h fear,

        no house

        beyond tall green pines

        whe English sul lives.

        Alarmed by the anguished cries,

        three riflemen e running,

        tightly drawn,

        as doheir brow.

        the gypsy

        a glass of tepid milk

        and a s of holland gin

        w drink.

        And hem, weeping,

        e adventure,

        the wind furiously gnashes

        against te roof tiles.
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