Snow wraiths circle us br Like washers of the dead, br Flapping their white wet cloths br Impatiently br About the grizzled head, br Where the coarse hair mats like grass, br And the efficient wind br With cold professional baste br Probes like a lancet br Through the cotton shirt… br br About us are white cliffs and space. br No façades show, br Nor roof nor any spire… br All sheathed in snow… br The parasitic snow br That clings about them like a blight. br br Only detached lights br Float hazily like greenish moons, br And endlessly br Down the whore-street, br Accouched and comforted and sleeping warm, br The blizzard waltzes with the night.