And melt the spirit; his mouth will distend
And Mere Chose's square of world, even as they
A frame of glided twilight-I
Wheel tracks entrench themselves in snow, yet painted
My soul lies cracked; and when, in its despair,
With its lament, it often sounds, instead,
But what I am looking at is hardened snow,
Everywhere, utterly.
Bronze the sky, with no
Where lamps are lit: these, too,
I am sleeping, and dreaming, and wandering along
How can they get the point of how a world
Summer bees were saying
Franz Josef Land: The Amazing Drift of the Tegetthoff
And trumpet at his lips; nor does he cast
And off the white smoke swims
Where does this all end? What is the vanishing
The earth beneath his feet, in its dark cape