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To listen, by the sputtering, smoking fire,
Wheel tracks entrench themselves in snow, yet painted
Will sound, then the Lord's face will luminesce
demonstrating their talent for comedy�stroke
Wide, whited fields, a way unframed at last
He terrifies the Vast, he seems so wild;
What I have in my hands, these flowers, these shadows,
then takes a step back, to be safe as she reaches.
Traces of those deep cuts lie thickly upon
at balls hit again and again toward her offspring.
XII. The Mystery of the Missing Ships: The Franklin Search
And still my mind goes groping in the mud to bring
At the end of the road. Even if they are staring
Trampled snow is the only rose.
The road, but not far enough ahead
His sightless eyes horribly watch the air;
In dense bare branches, or the ubiquitous
Sought to contrive, intending to express
Preface to the 1970 Edition