Upon from the right by far trees, that white place
And up there I cannot tell if it is still
Will sound, then the Lord's face will luminesce
XX. To the Pole
Or else, like us, sunk into some long gaze
Seized from creation by nonentity,
Preface to the 1970 Edition
XIII. The Route to the North
Dreaming time has reversed, I watch drowned snow
The high whites spread over the buried earth.
VII. Hudson and His Strait; Baffin and His Bay
Is it almost honey, is it snow?
Lucky the bell—still full and deep of throat,
Green lilac buds appear that won't survive
Chose to walk out of it, they'd have to pass
The purest form is always the one
Beyond ice floe and berg and ice-bound sea,
to restaurants for Early Bird Specials.
at balls hit again and again toward her offspring.