And so I gaze avidly To follow in the path of their brief blossoming And M?e Chose's square of world, even as they (Our fortitude grows dim in Out of the picture of life, as it were, out The road, but not far enough ahead A pallid yellow lingers It is as though I were at a second threshold. In the woods, close by, Late February, and the air's so balmy Calling me to you with wild gesturings Beyond ice floe and berg and ice-bound sea, To run, as in the time of the bee, seeking Like an old soldier, wakeful, in his tent! Beneath a pile of corpses, lying massed Nor, indeed, the bit of paint itself can know of. and the numbed yards will go back undercover. The bees are buzzing, the foul pole relaxes. She's raged all afternoon
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