During the plague I came into my own. br It was a time of smoke-pots in the house br Against infection. The blind head of bone br Grinned its abuse br br br Like a good democrat at everyone. br Runes were recited daily, charms were applied. br That was the time I came into my own. br Half Europe died. br br br The symptoms are a fever and dark spots br First on the hands, then on the face and neck, br But even before the body, the mind rots. br You can be sick br br br Only a day with it before you’re dead. br But the most curious part of it is the dance. br The victim goes, in short, out of his head. br A sort of trance br br br Glazes the eyes, and then the muscles take br His will away from him, the legs begin br Their funeral jig, the arms and belly shake br Like souls in sin. br br br Some, caught in these convulsions, have been known br To fall from windows, fracturing the spine. br Others have drowned in streams. The smooth head-stone, br The box of pine, br br br Are not for the likes of these. Moreover, flame br Is powerless against contagion. br That was the black winter when I came br Into my own.