XX. To the Pole
the foul pole relaxes. She's raged all afternoon
The edge of that other square cut from the right
Palladio who beckons from the other shore,
Nor, indeed, the bit of paint itself can know of.
Toward the still dab of white that oscillates
Père and Mère Chose could be in conversation
XVI. Laying a Ghost: The Jeannette and the Fram
In Winter Haven, the ballplayers are stretching
then takes a step back, to be safe as she reaches.
Blurring the terrain,
the foul pole relaxes. She's raged all afternoon
And up there I cannot tell if it is still
Down the long course of the gray slush of things
This gap in time, this season not their own,
to matter, for the flushed boys are muscular
IX. After the Great Northern Expedition
Suddenly, in a savage, dreadful bend,
Your red cheeks radiant against the wind,
the foul pole relaxes. She's raged all afternoon
The edge of that other square cut from the right
Palladio who beckons from the other shore,
Nor, indeed, the bit of paint itself can know of.
Toward the still dab of white that oscillates
Père and Mère Chose could be in conversation
XVI. Laying a Ghost: The Jeannette and the Fram
In Winter Haven, the ballplayers are stretching
then takes a step back, to be safe as she reaches.
Blurring the terrain,
the foul pole relaxes. She's raged all afternoon
And up there I cannot tell if it is still
Down the long course of the gray slush of things
This gap in time, this season not their own,
to matter, for the flushed boys are muscular
IX. After the Great Northern Expedition
Suddenly, in a savage, dreadful bend,
Your red cheeks radiant against the wind,
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