The snow has drifted. Quietness descends.

Blind walls beside the alley here, and empty ground.

Here comes a man. To take the knife and stab him now!

—Without a sound he’ll lean against the fence,

Then slowly sink onto his knees, and lie face down.

The snowy breath that stirs among the trees,

The smoke that softly hazes evening skies—

Those heralds of a deep and perfect peace—

Will lightly whirl about him where he lies.

From streets and yards they’ll all come running out to see,

Like swarming ants, and stand between his corpse and me.

They’ll question me on how I killed him, and what for.—

Not one will understand the love for him I bore.