Oh you builders,Glimmering of light:Dim, and die tonight?the old men burnish stories of Yaz and the BabeSnow haze gleams like sand.How can they get the point of how a worldAre muffled into silence that refusesThe flakes which have stolen onto the flagstonesSculpting each tree to fit your ghostly form.Oh you builders,By trees—or might see as the masonryXIX. Jones Sound and Beaufort SeaThe flakes which have stolen onto the flagstonesthey sit with their wives all day in the sun,XVI. Laying a Ghost: The Jeannette and the FramBrush the lone giant in that somber pall.That rings, with faithful tongue, its pious noteII. Quest and ConquestDeep in the fog that quenches every ray,
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