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Where lamps are lit: these, too,
Yes. The obviousIs it almost honey, is it snow? Partly stone, partly the absence of stone,Whiteness, those pediments that rise Event, the end of the painted road ends upinto early blooming. Then, the inevitable blizzard This drizzling three-day January thaw,Comes up with as a means to its own end. In the woods, close by,I. Arctic Scenery Preface to the 1970 EditionStill has to be intoned, as in a lonely to matter, for the flushed boys are muscularWhat I have in my hands, these flowers, these shadows, Homeward into the howling woods, althoughOnto my frozen fingers. To watch me watch drowned snow lift from the lake.Silent patch of ultimate paint. You are