And I would like
Life, or only joy, that stands outthey sit with their wives all day in the sun,
Point, after all, when finally one reachesRise, to the muffled chime of churchbell choir.
Archangel Winter, darkness on his backSuddenly, in a savage, dreadful bend,
With a hand freed from weight,Two of us, Docteur and Madame Machin, who stand
VIII. Russia: The Great Northern ExpeditionWant anything said at all, which I still doubt)
XXI. Flying in the ArcticTo listen, by the sputtering, smoking fire,
From which, thanks to symmetry,And so I gaze avidly
In a single floral stroke,Are muffled into silence that refuses
It's snowing, it's returning to a townAnd up there I cannot tell if it is still
|
|