Why is this age worse than earlier ages?
In a stupor of grief and dreadhave we not fingered the foulest woundsand left them unhealed by our hands?
In the west the falling light still glows,and the clustered housetops glitter in the sun,but here Death is already chalking the doors with crosses,and calling the ravens, and the ravens are flying in.
Translated by Stanley Kunitz (with Max Hayward)
