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 Winds! lean, serious as a virgin, seeking, seeking the flowers of March.

Seeking flowers nowhere to be found, they twine among the bare branches in insatiable eagerness— they whirl up the snow seeking under it— they—the winds—snakelike roar among yellow reeds seeking flowers—flowers.

I spring among them seeking one flower in which to warm myself!

I deride with all the ridicule of misery— my own starved misery.

Counter-cutting winds
 * strike against me

refreshing their fury!

Come, good, cold fellows!
 * Have we no flowers?

Defy then with even more desperation than ever—being
 * lean and frozen!

But though you are lean and frozen— think of the blue bulls of Babylon.