Where the small heads of violets br are shrunk to smaller skulls, br in meadows where the mind forgets br its bull fights and its bulls; br the dust of violet or rose br relinquishes its scent br and carries with it where it blows br a lessening remnant br of heresies in equipoise br and balanced argument br with which the mind would have refleshed br the flower's skeleton, br but that it found itself enmeshed br in the web of oblivion. br Therefore, when Gabriel sound the horn br and dust rise through the ground, br our flesh shall turn, on our last morn br fleshless as the horn's sound.