Winter Is Another Country

If the autumn would End! If the sweet season, The late light in the tall

trees would End! If the fragrence, the

odor of Fallen apples, dust on the

road, Water somewhere near, the

scent of Water touching me; if this

would end I could endure the absence

in the night, The hands beyond the reach

of hands, the name Called out and never an

swered with my name: The image never seen with

sight. I could endure this all If autumn ended and the

cold light came.

Archibald MacLeish, `Actfive,' 1948