I've drifted somewhat from the distant heart
How bittersweet it is, on winter's night,
One flash of eye, or blow one clarion-blast;
This third day of our January thaw,
XVIII. The Northeast and Northwest Passages
and the Splendid Splinter. For a few dreamy dollars,
XVII. Greenland
At the end of the road. Even if they are staring
That neither the motionless farm couple trudging
By the design of our own silent eyes
That desire has ever built, have approached
Close at the end of distance the two Chose
Père and Mère Chose could be in conversation
Between the vertex that the far-lit gray
Covering the land—
XII. The Mystery of the Missing Ships: The Franklin Search
She stretches a hand toward the toothy sleeper
A frame of glided twilight—I
What? What can you do?
How bittersweet it is, on winter's night,
One flash of eye, or blow one clarion-blast;
This third day of our January thaw,
XVIII. The Northeast and Northwest Passages
and the Splendid Splinter. For a few dreamy dollars,
XVII. Greenland
At the end of the road. Even if they are staring
That neither the motionless farm couple trudging
By the design of our own silent eyes
That desire has ever built, have approached
Close at the end of distance the two Chose
Père and Mère Chose could be in conversation
Between the vertex that the far-lit gray
Covering the land—
XII. The Mystery of the Missing Ships: The Franklin Search
She stretches a hand toward the toothy sleeper
A frame of glided twilight—I
What? What can you do?
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