Page:Satanella (1932).pdf/47

 On the shores of Asia Minor

Many cities stand deserted,

Ships are rotting in the harbors,

In the streets rot human bodies.

And in midst of scorching summer

Near the very shores of Rhodos

This black Turk made his appearance,

He whose shield, the blood-red sunshine,

Whose projectiles strike each target

And whose sword of poisoned vapors

Penetrates most hardened armour.

That is why the long procession

Leaves the city for the ruins,

To the nook where hangs the picture;

Supplicating, weeping, praying,

Asking for Madonna's succour

In the Island's pressing hour.

That is why each city portal

And in haste each island harbor

Is enclosed with chains of iron.

But the plague through air is flying

But the plague kills with its breathing.

No I know not if the plague-bird

Of his flight will change direction

Hot the wind the sun grows crimson

All in yellow fog enfolded.