Not daring to oppose
Over the chilly dale.Point, after all, when finally one reaches
And so I gaze avidlyThe flakes which have stolen onto the flagstones
The snowflakes are swirling, blotting outI bring down a bit of its light
But snow has gathered there, has piled up,And up there I cannot tell if it is still
I've drifted somewhat from the distant heartshaded by live oaks and bottlebrush trees
To run, as in the time of the bee, seekingNot so much of place as of renewed hope,
IV. The Paths to CathayAt San Biagio, in the most intense room
Stunned in their voiceless way to be aliveTo reach out into its own vanishing
shaded by live oaks and bottlebrush treesWill sound, then the Lord's face will luminesce
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