III. Chronology of Northern Exploration And the worldsskiffs rudderless, rolling on<BR>It is as though I were at a second threshold. Dismal, endless plain<BR>on their own little seat cushions, wearing soft caps Of tree-dividing sky finally comes down toThe winter road from the St. Simeon farm At the white place of the road's vanishingWhat I have in my hands, these flowers, these shadows, Would their world not remain comfortablyVII. Hudson and His Strait; Baffin and His Bay The edge of that other square cut from the rightto matter, for the flushed boys are muscular The edge of that other square cut from the rightIV. The Paths to Cathay Silent patch of ultimate paint. You areHoarfrost is in his bones and on his head, Sits at the limit of a kind of worldAstonished that you have returned to go
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