Chapter 45 A CARCASS

Recall to mind the sight we saw, my soul,

That soft, sweet summer day:

Upon a bed of flints a carrion foul,

Just as we turn'd the way

Its legs erected, wanton-like, in air,

Burning and sweating past,

In unconcern'd and cynic sort laid bare

To view its noisome breast.

The sun lit up the rottenness with gold,

To bake it wel