Cuts out of its width (81). UnfairIs the moon to growThe flakes which have
stolen onto the flagstonesThat this mud draws on the stone.At these masses the
snow hides from me.I do not betray you, I still go forward,Mère and
Père Chose are walking away from theMy keyhole blows a galeAnd he is
swathed in ever-petrified dread;Will sound, then the Lord's face will
luminesceWhen I am heard, and what I say is solelyVII. Hudson and His Strait;
Baffin and His BayEnd of the comedy.Lucky the bellstill full and deep of
throat,And Mère Chose's square of world, even as theyBeyond ice floe and
berg and ice-bound sea,Clear-voiced despite its years, strong, eloquentTo
follow in the path of their brief blossomingWhat is there in the depths of
these walls
[Non-text portions of this message have been removed]
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