A carnival, a flesh farewell Hiessens rising from the, from the dead Wyman-Elvis! Calls our gurrel And counts the ash to where, to where he bled: At the first a crimson mist At the second sleeplessness At the third a broken tryst At the fourth a Iwonesomeness Gawly the sweethearts leaves The soldier's tears The Riddle river grieves: Wyman-Elvis disappears Only in a scrid of flesh Hooked upon the hart's-tongue fern Only by her own gooseflesh Knows she somewhen he'll return