THE CURSE
Oh, lay my ashes on the wind
That blows across the sea.
And I shall meet a fisherman
Out of Capri,
And he will say, seeing me,
“What a strange thing!
Like a fish’s scale or a
Butterfly’s wing.”
Oh, lay my ashes on the wind
That blows away the fog.
And I shall meet a farmer boy
Leaping through the bog,
And he will say, seeing me,
“What a strange thing!
Like a peat-ash or a
Butterfly’s wing.”
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