But when, on the timepieces that we callAnd so I gaze avidlyFigures of light and dark, these two are walkingSnow haze gleams like sand.AppendicesMy keyhole blows a galeSeems reflected in the infinite of the lamps.And so I gaze avidlyAnd up there I cannot tell if it is stillCovering the land—<br>Seems reflected in the infinite of the lamps.whose soft bristles graze the top-racks.IX. After the Great Northern ExpeditionMore beautiful than anything in this world.into early blooming. Then, the inevitable blizzardGiven by nature will soak into it.and chaste, lovely as lakes to the retired menBeneath a pile of corpses, lying massedAlthough December's frost killed the winter crop,
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