I see the Devil in his big black sheath.
A ''hue of crimson'' bleeds across his eyes.
''...on a rug, under a tree''
that's where we'll meet.
''...and wild creatures danced passed at once'', in ''walts of music.''
''She could fly into a passion without making a noise.''
soft, strange, little notes..
''...pleasure began to crowd her anger out of her mind...and she always ''privately believed..''
that one day, she would meet the Devil in his big black sheath, hidden in the silence of the moor, as ''hues of crimson'' bleed across her eyes.
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