IV
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y second spring--passed in a monasterywith plaster walls--in Fiesoleon the hill above Florence. My second spring--painteda virgin--in a blue aureolesitting on a three-legged stool,arms crossed--she is intently serious,and stillwatching an angelwith coloured wingshalf kneeling before her--and smiling--the angel's eyesholding the eyes of Maryas a snake's holds a bird's.On the ground there are flowers,trees are in leaf. V But! now for the battle!Now for murder--now for the real thing!My third springtime is approaching!Winds!lean, serious as a virgin,seeking, seeking the flowers of March. Seekingflowers nowhere to be found,they twine among the bare branchesin insatiable eagerness--they whirl up the snowseeking under it--they--the winds--snakelikeroar among yellow reedsseeking flowers--flowers. I spring among themseeking one flowerin which to warm myself! I deride with all the ridiculeof misery--my own starved misery.
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