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In the woods, close by,Covering the land—In search of brighter green to come. No way!The high whites spread over the buried earth.then takes a step back, to be safe as she reaches.VII. Hudson and His Strait; Baffin and His BayVIII. Russia: The Great Northern ExpeditionWrithing their stunted limbs,He is harsh, dismal, ice—that is, exiled;Toward . . . that seems to be the whispered questionwill come, blighting our harbingers of spring,Unreadable from behind—they are well downAnd I would likeWhat I have in my hands, these flowers, these shadows,The winged winds, captives of that age-old foeUnreadable from behind—they are well downGray the cloud-like oaksAstonished that you have returned to goChose to walk out of it, they'd have to pass