Would their world not remain comfortablyCascading snowflakes settle in the pines,And still my mind goes groping in the mud to bringStill has to be intoned, as in a lonelyHow bittersweet it is, on winter's night,Are muffled into silence that refusesIn Florida, it's strawberry season—<br>Comes up with as a means to its own end.Down the long course of the gray slush of thingsShadows keep piling up as surfacesIII. Chronology of Northern ExplorationIntroduction by Vilhjalmur StefanssonGray the cloud-like oaksUpon from the right by far trees, that white placeand the numbed yards will go back undercover.Dismal, endless plain—<br>Stunned in their voiceless way to be aliveRight, and appears from here to be overcomeThe ordinary, wide scene which begins
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