Implores the passing tribute of a sigh.
The spirit that stands by the naked man
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Teach the free man how to praise.
And shut the gates of mercy on mankind,
Here the moths take flight at evening;
your bones were broken with the force
The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea,
Till then I never wakèd,
'There at the foot of yonder nodding beech
Implores the passing tribute of a sigh.
The spirit that stands by the naked man
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Teach the free man how to praise.
And shut the gates of mercy on mankind,
Here the moths take flight at evening;
your bones were broken with the force
The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea,
Till then I never wakèd,
'There at the foot of yonder nodding beech