That desire has ever built, have approached
The road, but not far enough aheadRise, to the muffled chime of churchbell choir.
and the numbed yards will go back undercover.I. Arctic Scenery
It is as though I were at a second threshold.Out of the picture of life, as it were, out
They move against, or through, or by, or toward.Dismal, endless plain—
The form sought for centuries byThe weight of being born into exile is lifted.
Figures of light and dark, these two are walkingIn stone waves and rock waters, far from day,
and the Splendid Splinter. For a few dreamy dollars,Trampled snow is the only rose.
In white, in paint too representativeYour gloved hands covering your lips' good-bye
That patch of white at the very end of the roadWide, whited fields, a way unframed at last
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