And the town is frozen solid in a vice, Trees, walls, snow, beneath a glass. Over crystal, on slippery tracks of ice, the painted sleighs and I, together, pass. And over St Peters there are poplars, crows...
I hear the oriole's always-grieving voice, And the rich summer's welcome loss I hear In the sickle's serpentine hiss Cutting the corn's ear tightly pressed to ear. And the short skirts of the slim reapers...
Here is my gift, not roses on your grave, not sticks of burning incense. You lived aloof, maintaining to the end your magnificent disdain. You drank wine, and told the wittiest jokes,...
In the heart, the memory of the sun fades, Yellower turns the grass. The wind disperses the early flakes Barely, with each pass. In narrow channels, water won’t flow – Cooling, stands still....
How helplessly chilled was my chest, yet My footsteps were nimble and light. I unconsciously put on my left hand The glove that belonged on my right. It seemed that the stairs were endless,...
The boy there, on the bagpipes playing, The girl, who weaves herself a wreath, Two forest paths that cross while straying, The fire in the fields beneath - I see it all. I witness it and stow...