Again I reply to the triple winds

Out of the dark changeall day longrain falls and fallsas if it would never end.Still the snow keepsits hold on the ground.But water, waterfrom a thousand runnels!It collects swiftly,dappled with blackcuts a way for itselfthrough green ice in the gutters.Drop after drop it fallsfrom the withered grass-stemsof the overhanging embankment.

I saw the figure 5in goldon a redfiretruckmovingtenseunheededto gong clangssiren howlsand wheels rumblingthrough the dark city.

Yet—I lie here thinking of you.The stain of loveIs upon the world.Yellow, yellow, yellow,It eats into the leaves,Smears with saffronThe horned branches that leanHeavilyAgainst a smooth purple sky.There is no light—Only a honey-thick stainThat drips from leaf to leafAnd limb to limbSpoiling the coloursOf the whole world.I am alone.The weight of loveHas buoyed me upTill…

half lying on the grass, yellowand brown and white, thetalk of a few people, the trees,an expanse of dried leaves perhapswith ditches among them.But there comesbetween me and these thingsa letteror even a look–well placed,you understand,so that I am confused, twistedfour ways and–left flat,unable to lift the food tomy own mouth:Here is what they say:…

in light frocks they walk the streetsto while the time away.They have grown tall. They holdpink flames in their right hands.In white from head to foot,with sidelong, idle look–in yellow, floating stuff,black sash and stockings–touching their avid mouthswith pink sugar on a stick–like a carnation each holds in her hand–they mount the lonely street.

equals the stupidity of man.The year plunges into nightand the heart plungeslower than nightto an empty, windswept placewithout sun, stars or moonbut a peculiar light as of thoughtthat spins a dark fire –whirling upon itself until,in the cold, it kindlesto make a man aware of nothingthat he knows, not lonelinessitself – Not a ghost butwould…