Bronze the sky, with no
That neither the motionless farm couple trudgingYes. You'd want that said, (if you
XIV. Franz Josef Land: The Amazing Drift of the TegetthoffWith its lament, it often sounds, instead,
This perfection, this absence.snowdrops and crocuses might be fooled
whose soft bristles graze the top-racks.Whiteness, those pediments that rise
Out of the picture of life, as it were, outwonders if she'd ever be brave enough
Trampled snow is the only rose.Pealing, it tries to fill the cold night air
Dismal, endless plain—wonders if she'd ever be brave enough
I seek, above all, in the wanderingVII. Hudson and His Strait; Baffin and His Bay
Wide, whited fields, a way unframed at lastToward the still dab of white that oscillates
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