Mariana

into early blooming. Then, the inevitable blizzard
Preface to the 1970 Edition
As if your absence now concluded long ago.
Two of us, Docteur and Madame Machin, who stand
Dim, and die tonight?
Everywhere, utterly.
That desire has ever built, have approached
The mortal architect had brought to life,
Lucky the bell—still full and deep of throat,
A pallid yellow lingers
snowdrops and crocuses might be fooled
Snow haze gleams like sand.
Whiteness, those pediments that rise
Cascading snowflakes settle in the pines,
will come, blighting our harbingers of spring,
What is there in the depths of these walls
And still my mind goes groping in the mud to bring
Still has to be intoned, as in a lonely
Wind, sleet. The branches sway,