Aug 28, 2007 00:34
"To watch me watch drowned snow lift from the lake.
Or else, like us, sunk into some long gazeand chaste, lovely as lakes to the retired men
Come, swallows, it's good-bye.Of Boyg of Normandy . . .
As distant memories, through the fog-dimmed light,-Now that you notice it-have just moved past
Upon from the right by far trees, that white placeAs it sits there like an eventual
Billows the fog, cloaksClear-voiced despite its years, strong, eloquent-
they sit with their wives all day in the sun,Wide, whited fields, a way unframed at last
What is there in the depths of these wallsThrough the back of the picture at the patch of white
I seek, above all, in the wanderingIX. After the Great Northern Expedition
But what I am looking at is hardened snow,Beyond ice floe and berg and ice-bound sea,
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