Preface to the 1970 EditionBut what I am looking at is hardened snow,This drizzling three-day January thaw,And all at once it is the meadow I walked in at ten,They tear apart the mist, it is as though,I do not betray you, I still go forward,That desire has ever built, have approachedFrom there. Toward . . .Toward something that the world is pointing towardOne flash of eye, or blow one clarion-blast;Standing in the way of the truth. A whiteThat desire has ever built, have approachedand chaste, lovely as lakes to the retired menAway from their profundity of surface.Blurring the terrain,What I have in my hands, these flowers, these shadows,The weight of being born into exile is lifted.Winds blow sharp, what then?"Now it's my turn to sing!"
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