and chaste, lovely as lakes to the retired menIt's snowing, it's returning to a townI might have happily lived some other childhood.Beneath the snowflakes I notice façadesDreaming time has reversed—and you,Your red cheeks radiant against the wind,And off the white smoke swimsinto early blooming. Then, the inevitable blizzardWith my foot the supple ball, for perhapsAt the white place of the road's vanishingNor, indeed, the bit of paint itself can know of.As distant memories, through the fog-dimmed light,Astonished that you have returned to goLeft and right, and far ahead in the dusk.I've drifted somewhat from the distant heartAnd melt the spirit; his mouth will distendNo name, no meaning. Oh my friends,To have been claimed by what we see of whatEscapees from the cold work of living,