XVI. Laying a Ghost: The Jeannette and the Fram
She stretches a hand toward the toothy sleeper
VII. Hudson and His Strait; Baffin and His Bay
VI. Smeerenburg and the Whale-Oil Rush
XIX. Jones Sound and Beaufort Sea
And I would like
—The place the road ends, that patch of white paint
Appendices
As if your absence now concluded long ago.
I draw near to one of them, the lowest,
My keyhole blows a gale
Pallid waste where no radiant fathomers,
Of Boyg of Normandy . . .
What? What can you do?
Figures of light and dark, these two are walking
Of too much truth to do much more than lie
Amid the gloom, there, on the pole, stands black
Your red cheeks radiant against the wind,
At the white place of the road's vanishing
She stretches a hand toward the toothy sleeper
VII. Hudson and His Strait; Baffin and His Bay
VI. Smeerenburg and the Whale-Oil Rush
XIX. Jones Sound and Beaufort Sea
And I would like
—The place the road ends, that patch of white paint
Appendices
As if your absence now concluded long ago.
I draw near to one of them, the lowest,
My keyhole blows a gale
Pallid waste where no radiant fathomers,
Of Boyg of Normandy . . .
What? What can you do?
Figures of light and dark, these two are walking
Of too much truth to do much more than lie
Amid the gloom, there, on the pole, stands black
Your red cheeks radiant against the wind,
At the white place of the road's vanishing
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