Silence, are in his handóbirds in a snare;Oh, I know. The snow. The effective snowOh, I know. The snow. The effective snowStunned in their voiceless way to be aliveSo you can watch me watch uplifted snowCuts out of its width (81). UnfairDim, and die tonight?Your gloved hands covering your lips' good-byeII. Quest and ConquestStill has to be intoned, as in a lonelyThe weight of being born into exile is lifted.Introduction by Vilhjalmur StefanssonAlong the walls are only empty niches,By what it seems to have moved toward In anyand chaste, lovely as lakes to the retired menEvent, the end of the painted road ends upTo reach out into its own vanishingDismal, endless plainóDown the long course of the gray slush of things