Van Valckenborch, Winter, 1586
ANCIENT WINTER
Desire of your hands white
in the penumbra of the flame:
they had the fragrance of oakwood and roses;
of death. Ancient Winter.
The birds looked for their grain
and were suddenly of snow;
similarly words;
a little sun, an angel’s glory,
and then the mist, and the trees
and us made of air in the morning.
Salvatore Quasimodo
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