II. Quest and ConquestBut snow has gathered there, has piled up,"Now it's my turn to sing!"In the woods, close by,Snow haze gleams like sand.shortcake, waffles, berries and creamHis sightless eyes horribly watch the air;Figures of light and dark, these two are walkingGreen lilac buds appear that won't surviveThe pain of being born into matter.He never even dreams, being sheer snow;Writhing their stunted limbs,In Winter Haven, the ballplayers are stretchingI am sleeping, and dreaming, and wandering along—The place the road ends, that patch of white paintAnd up there I cannot tell if it is stillShadows keep piling up as surfacesCovering the land—Appendices
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