No fish-merchant at the street's end now br 'Palamut, palamut' no more br even the simit-seller walks on silent feet br the snow descends in feathered lumps br drops weightily on roofs and roads br cafes stand empty under heavy trees br the Bosphorus runs gun-metal grey and dull br the hills of Asia rise shining and brave br chesting the wind br the bridge, a frozen skeleton br watches the city br where we wait br dreaming of tulips br purple blossom and the warmth of spring.