Out Of This Oubliette Between The Mountains Five Valleys Go, Five Passes Like Gates; Three Of Them Black In Shadow, Two Of Them Bright With Distant Sunshine; And Sunshine Fills One High Valley Bed, Green Grass Shining, And Little White Houses Like Quartz Crystals, Little, But Distinct A Way Off. Why Don't I Go? Why Do I Crawl About This Pot, This Oubliette, Stupidly? Why Don't I Go? But Where? If I Come To A Pine-Wood, I Can't Say Now I Am Arrived! What Are So Many Straight Trees To Me! Sterzing