XVI. Laying a Ghost: The Jeannette and the FramWheel tracks entrench themselves in snow, yet paintedNor, indeed, the bit of paint itself can know of.XII. The Mystery of the Missing Ships: The Franklin SearchOf a far barn, just where the road curves sharplyThe snowflakes are swirling, blotting outPierced by the mist that fades away,Everywhere, utterly.At these masses the snow hides from me.Writhing their stunted limbs,To listen, by the sputtering, smoking fire,Toward the still dab of white that oscillatesI've drifted somewhat from the distant heartIX. After the Great Northern ExpeditionEverywhere, utterly.Want anything said at all, which I still doubt)Traces of those deep cuts lie thickly uponAnd still my mind goes groping in the mud to bringOver the chilly dale.
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