| The brawling of a sparrow in the eaves, |
| The brilliant moon and all the milky sky, |
| And all that famous harmony of leaves, |
| Had blotted out man’s image and his cry. |
| A girl arose that had red mournful lips |
| And seemed the greatness of the world in tears, |
| Doomed like Odysseus and the labouring ships |
| And proud as Priam murdered with his peers; |
| Arose, and on the instant clamorous eaves, |
| A climbing moon upon an empty sky, |
| And all that lamentation of the leaves, |
| Could but compose man’s image and his cry. |