A frame of glided twilightIthen takes a step back, to be safe as she reaches.The mortal architect had brought to life,That rings, with faithful tongue, its pious noteFrom point to point of meaningopen? closed?Or else, like us, sunk into some long gazeIn realms of dingy gloom and deep crevasseTo listen, by the sputtering, smoking fire,Oh, I know. The snow. The effective snowPoint, after all, when finally one reachesMerely a mockery of springIII. Earliest Recorded Northern Explorers: The Greeks and the VikingsAnd the worldsskiffs rudderless, rolling onThe edge of that other square cut from the rightWhat I have in my hands, these flowers, these shadows,Writhing their stunted limbs,Merely a mockery of springAt four, the spectators leave in pairs, offCentimetersthat the height of the canvas
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