The bees are buzzing,
on their own little seat cushions, wearing soft caps
That images of roads, whether composed
Cuts out of its width (81). Unfair
Side of the painting, the world of that wise, white,
Upon from the right by far trees, that white place
Only a whiter absence to my mind,
Late February, and the air's so balmy
XVI. Laying a Ghost: The Jeannette and the Fram
Suddenly, in a savage, dreadful bend,
How bittersweet it is, on winter's night,
Right, and appears from here to be overcome
wonders if she'd ever be brave enough
snowdrops and crocuses might be fooled
V. The Dutch in the Arctic
Dismal, endless plain—
Wind, sleet. The branches sway,
Floating on the sky.
Bronze the sky, with no
on their own little seat cushions, wearing soft caps
That images of roads, whether composed
Cuts out of its width (81). Unfair
Side of the painting, the world of that wise, white,
Upon from the right by far trees, that white place
Only a whiter absence to my mind,
Late February, and the air's so balmy
XVI. Laying a Ghost: The Jeannette and the Fram
Suddenly, in a savage, dreadful bend,
How bittersweet it is, on winter's night,
Right, and appears from here to be overcome
wonders if she'd ever be brave enough
snowdrops and crocuses might be fooled
V. The Dutch in the Arctic
Dismal, endless plain—
Wind, sleet. The branches sway,
Floating on the sky.
Bronze the sky, with no
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