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By bloody pool�rattling, gasping his last.
Rise, to the muffled chime of churchbell choir.
The snowflakes are swirling, blotting out
Oh, I know. The snow. The effective snow
And off the white smoke swims
How bittersweet it is, on winter's night,
XII. The Mystery of the Missing Ships: The Franklin Search
What can we know of whatever picture-plane
Looms in the air, deliberate and slow,
Shadows keep piling up as surfaces
But snow has gathered there, has piled up,
Point, after all, when finally one reaches
Preface to the 1970 Edition
Partly stone, partly the absence of stone,
The mortal architect had brought to life,
P�re and M�re Chose could be in conversation
Snaps of ice cracking in the hidden air.
XIV. Franz Josef Land: The Amazing Drift of the Tegetthoff
Archangel Winter, darkness on his back