‘O cruel Death， give three things back，’
Sang a bone upon the shore；
‘A child found all a child can lack，
Whether of pleasure or of rest，
Upon the abundance of my breast‘：
A bone wave-whitened and dried in the wind.
‘Three dear things that women know，’
Sang a bone upon the shore；
‘A man if I but held him so
When my body was alive
Found all the pleasure that life gave‘：
A bone wave-whitened and dried in the wind.
‘The third thing that I think of yet，’
Sang a bone upon the shore，
‘Is that morning when I met
Face to face my rightful man
And did after stretch and yawn‘：
A bone wave-whitened and dried in the wind.