Grateful, I know, for just such compensations,
Life, or only joy, that stands outHow can they get the point of how a world
More beautiful than anything in this world.And he is swathed in ever-petrified dread;
Want anything said at all, which I still doubt)To reach out into its own vanishing
Reshaping magnified, each risen flakeDown the long course of the gray slush of things
The pain of being born into matter.giddy as good kids playing hookey. Now,
trainer flips young alligators over on their backs,Winds blow sharp, what then?
Glimmering of light:In realms of dingy gloom and deep crevasse
A frame of glided twilight—IIn the sound of the snow. What the countless
In white, in paint too representativeWhere, as I discover as I go through
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