A strange unrest hovers over the nation:

This is the last dance, the wild tossing of Morgan’s seas,

The division of spoils. A lassitude

Enters into the diamonds of the body.

In high school the explosion begins, the child is partly killed,

When the fight is over, and the land and the sea ruined,

Two shapes inside us rise, and move away.

But the baboon whistles on the shores of death -

Climbing and falling, tossing nuts and stones,

He gambols by the tree

Whose branches hold the expanses of cold,

The planets whirling and the black sun, The cries of insects, and the tiny slaves In the prisons of bark:

Charlemagne, we are approaching your islands!

We are returning now to the snowy trees,

And the depth of the darkness buried in snow, through

which you rode all night

With stiff hands; now the darkness is falling

In which we sleep and awake—a darkness in which

Thieves shudder, and the insane have a hunger for snow,

In which bankers dream of being buried by black stones,

And businessmen fall on their knees in the dungeons of sleep.