På tal om Marskväll vill jag förresten också puffa lite för Robert Blys översättning, även den mycket fin. Thawing är ett oerhört vackert ord.

Winterspring, nightfall, thawing.
Boys have lit a candle in a snowball house.
For the man in the evening train that rattles past,
it is a red memory surrounded by gray time,
calling, calling, out of stark woods just waking up.
And the man who was traveling never got home,
his life stayed behind, held by that lantern and that hour.

Robert Bly, March Evening