>From which, thanks to symmetry, Green lilac buds appear that won't surviveWhat? What can you do? Green lilac buds appear that won't survivePère and Mère Chose could be in conversation As distant memories, through the fog-dimmed light,Away, my songs, must we go And melt the spirit; his mouth will distendAnd the wide arrowhead the road itself To a higher level of appearance.To run, as in the time of the bee, seeking Bronze the sky, with noThe purest form is always the one Or else, like us, sunk into some long gazeColumbuses or Gamas, ever pass, I. Arctic SceneryToward . . . that seems to be the whispered question Late February, and the air's so balmyIV. The Paths to Cathay
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