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Now is the globe shrunk tight
Now is the globe shrunk tight Round the mouse's dulled wintering heart Weasel and crow, as if moulded in brass, Move through an outer darkness. Not in their right minds, With the other deaths. She, too, pursues her ends, Brutal as the stars of this month, Her pale head heavy as metal.
The world is now squeezed tight Around the mouse's slow, winter heart. Weasel and crow, as if made of metal, Move through a dark outside world. Not thinking clearly, With the other deaths. She also follows her goals, As harsh as the stars of this month, Her pale head as heavy as metal.