"Now white flowers cover them—the frozen white flowers of the sky."
It was night now about the mountaintop—deep night above it. At intervals the communing of the firs started up afresh:
"Had they known how alone in the universe they were, would they not have turned to each other for happiness?"
"Would not all have helped each?"
"Would not each have helped all?"
"Would they have so mingled their wars with their prayers?"
"Would they not have thrown away their weapons and thrown their arms around one another? It was all a mystery."
"Mystery—mystery."
Once in the night they sounded in unison: