AT the road's end
The sun goes down;
Give me your hand,
And give me your mouth. This spring is as black
As a faithless heart;
I am thirsty, give me
Your tears to drink. O dusk from above!
The angelus rings;
Give me the love
That your breasts tremble with. The road descends,
White ribbon of leagues,
The last, long slope
Of the blue hills. Now stay, and look
At yonder trees,
And the smoking roofs
Where a village dreams: For I will there
In the porchways sleep,
Among your hair
Full of withered leaves.