‘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 abundance¹ 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.

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