Part 1 (2/2)

winds that by strange craft have whipt up a black army that by pick and shovel bare a procession to the G.o.d, Marduk!

Natives cursing and digging for pay unearth dragons with upright tails and sacred bulls alternately-- in four tiers-- lining the way to an old altar!

Natives digging at old walls-- digging me warmth--digging me sweet loneliness-- high enamelled walls.

IV

My second spring-- pa.s.sed in a monastery with plaster walls--in Fiesole on the hill above Florence.

My second spring--painted a virgin--in a blue aureole sitting on a three-legged stool, arms crossed-- she is intently serious, and still watching an angel with coloured wings half kneeling before her-- and smiling--the angel's eyes holding the eyes of Mary as a snake's holds a bird's.

On the ground there are flowers, trees are in leaf.

V

But! now for the battle!

Now for murder--now for the real thing!

My third springtime is approaching!

Winds!

lean, serious as a virgin, seeking, seeking the flowers of March.

Seeking flowers nowhere to be found, they twine among the bare branches in insatiable eagerness-- they whirl up the snow seeking under it-- they--the winds--snakelike roar among yellow reeds seeking flowers--flowers.

I spring among them seeking one flower in which to warm myself!

I deride with all the ridicule of misery-- my own starved misery.

Counter-cutting winds strike against me refres.h.i.+ng their fury!

Come, good, cold fellows!

Have we no flowers?

Defy then with even more desperation than ever--being lean and frozen!

But though you are lean and frozen-- think of the blue bulls of Babylon.

Fling yourselves upon their empty roses-- cut savagely!

But-- think of the painted monastery at Fiesole.

BERKET AND THE STARS

A day on the boulevards chosen out of ten years of student poverty! One best day out of ten good ones.

Berket in high spirits--”Ha, oranges! Let's have one!”

And he made to s.n.a.t.c.h an orange from the vender's cart.

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