Malaria! Malaria!
You, with your agèd river’s flow,
What of our Riders laid below?
Valley of Death, with your torpid heat,
Look where your swirling hill streams meet,
Down by your Dead, salt Sea!
Look to the ones on your mounded knoll!
Look to the ones of your chosen toll!
Those of your fevered kiss!
Better the blast of the rending shell!