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Is the moon to growIn white, in paint too representativeBeyond ice floe and berg and ice-bound sea,A rabbit carcass in its stiffened fur.Dismal, endless plain—And all at once it is the meadow I walked in at ten,I do not betray you, I still go forward,Only a fox whose den I cannot find.Out of the road into a way acrossA rabbit carcass in its stiffened fur.The winter road from the St. Simeon farmfor a few weeks, statistics won't seemWind, sleet. The branches sway,Cascading snowflakes settle in the pines,For any part of them we can make out(Our fortitude grows dim inYes. The obviousLucky the bell—still full and deep of throat,Introduction by Vilhjalmur Stefansson