at the hip As we tramp heedless, uncaring. In the inn the fire crackles: On the hearth the wine is simmering. Lift up the brown beaker one instant, Drink deeply—fling out the last coin—let us go. On the plains there is drooping harvest, But no harvest can for long time hold us, We have seen the winds, baffled, Racing up the orange-flecked trench of the hills. IV On the hill summit Where the gusty wind all night long has assailed me, Now I see stars vanishing Before the long cold clutching fingers of dawn. Stars scintillant, fire-hued, metallic, Topaz fruit of the deep-blue garden: Southward you go, my constellations, And leave me with the white day, alone. Over the hilltop Swish with a scurry of wings Millions of pale brown birds, Songless, pulsing southward. Birds who have filled the trees, And who fled long ago at my passing, Now you clatter in heedless tumult, Fanning with your hot wings my face. Carry this word to the southward; Say that I have forgotten them that wait for me, All the loves and the hates need expect me no longer, In the autumn at last I am alone. Suddenly The wind crashes through the tree-tops, Stripping away their orange-tiled domes; Stark blue skeletons, forbidding Gesticulate in my face. You whom I planted and lavished With all the wealth and beauty I had to bestow Hurry away, vain harvest, The winds' scythes can reap you, Where you lie on the earth, and to death's barns you can go. Beyond the hilltop I have seen only the sky. The wind, naked, prodding up black-furred clouds, Cossacks of winter. Cry, wind, Shriek to the shivering southland, That I am going into winter, That I do not hope to return. Farewell, crowded stars, Farewell, birds, winds, clouds and tree-tops, I, weary of you all, seek my destined joy in the north-land, Amid blue ice and the rose-purple night of the pole. V Beyond the land there lies the sea; And on the sea with wings unfurled, Bloodily huge the sunset rests, Feathers flickering and claws curled, Watching to seize the ruined world. Rolling in a torrent, Brown leaves, my achievements, Rise up from dark-wooded valleys And scatter themselves on the sea; Brown birds, my wild dreams, Mingle their bodies together, Shrieking and clamouring as they pass, Black charred silhouettes Against the west, curtained in orange flame. Now the wind starts up And strikes the seething water: Hissing in uncoiled fury Each foam-curled wave darts forward To clash and batter The smouldering iron-rust cliff, Where the end of my road is lost. Rise up, black clouds; Pounce upon the sunset: Tear it with your jagged teeth. Fling yourselves, seething winds, in circles Upon the blue-black water, Swirl, leaves, and dance Amid the chaos of breakers, Flicker, birds, an instant Against the tawny tiger throat of the sun 

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