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The flies the putrid belly buzz'd about,
Whence black battalions throng
Of maggots, like thick liquid flowing out
The living rags along.
And as a wave they mounted and went down.
Or darted sparkling wide ;
As if the body, by a wild breath blown,
Lived as it multiplied.
From all this life a music strange there ran.
Like wind and running burns;
Or like the wheat a winnower in his fan
With rhythmic movement turns.
The forms wore off, and as a dream grew faint,
An outline dimly shown.
And which the artist finishes to paint
From memory alone.
Behind the rocks watch'd us with angry eye
A bitch disturb'd in theft,
"Waiting to take, till we had pass'd her by,
The morsel she had left.
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