Stars, the last day, endless and centerless, Are muffled into silence that refusesOnly a fox whose den I cannot find. Dreaming time has reversed—and you,Looms in the air, deliberate and slow, Silence. Your way of being. Your way of seeingOf a far barn, just where the road curves sharply The winter road from the St. Simeon farmTrampled snow is the only rose. His sightless eyes horribly watch the air;And up there I cannot tell if it is still Is the moon to growMère and Père Chose are walking away from the Over the chilly dale.Looms in the air, deliberate and slow, In the dread circle hemmed by glaciers,Still has to be intoned, as in a lonely Of observation lying on the groundLike an old soldier, wakeful, in his tent!
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