***

Everything is looted, spoiled, despoiled,
Death flickering his black wing,
Anguish, hunger—then why this
Lightness overlaying everything?
 
By day, cherry-scent from an unknown
Wood near the town. July
Holding new constellations, deep
At night in the transparent sky—
 
Nearer to filthy ruined houses
Flies the miraculous . . .
Nobody has ever known it,
This, always so dear to us.

1921

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