We hear the devils hiss among the trees,
as Death, long-stilted, in his tall black dress
sways among the apples: and we hear the bell
toll from the college: the late chilly soul
drifts among skulls, the always leaving flesh:
from church to inn it wanders, a debauch
of spirit after spirit: while the cross
nails it between the sky and the hard gloss
of the inflamed roses: not the mind
can save us even here, in this refined
blandest of cities, when the scaly wings
rustle about us in our blossomings
and second-hand reflections. Among trees
the devils blow their cinders to a blaze
and in the college grounds Death in black cloak
walks tall above us, smiling at our books.