The Poet monologue — Plays by August Strindberg, First Series

I see an open space covered with snow--a drill ground--The winter sun is shining from behind a church on a hill, and the tower is casting its long shadow on the snow--Now a troop of soldiers come marching across the grounds. They march up along the tower, up the spire. Now they have reached the cross, but I have a feeling that the first one who steps on the gilded weathercock at the top must die. Now they are near it--a corporal is leading them--ha-ha! There comes a cloud sweeping across the open space, and right in front of the sun, of course--now everything is gone--the water in the cloud put out the sun's fire!--The light of the sun created the shadow picture of the tower, but the shadow picture of the cloud swallowed the shadow picture of the tower----