Under the trimmed willows, where brown children
And leaves tumbling, the trumpets blow. A quaking
Banners of scarlet rattle through a sadness of maple
Riders along rye-fields, empty mills.
Or shepherds sing during the night, and stags step
Into the circle of their fire, the grove’s sorrow
Dancing, they loom up from one black wall;
Banners of scarlet, laughter, insanity, trumpets.