shaded by live oaks and bottlebrush trees
Preface to the 1948 Edition
Only whirled snow heaped up by whirled snow,
Coextensive with everything? How could they know?
With sun's warmth wasted on a stone,
The ordinary, wide scene which begins
A kind of snow, which hesitates
Your red cheeks radiant against the wind,
at balls hit again and again toward her offspring.
References
Down the road, at Cypress Gardens, a woman
That images of roads, whether composed
To have been claimed by what we see of what
Sits at the limit of a kind of world
Only a fox whose den I cannot find.
then takes a step back, to be safe as she reaches.
XV. The International Circumpolar Stations: The Greely Expedition
And I would like
Billows the fog, cloaks
Preface to the 1948 Edition
Only whirled snow heaped up by whirled snow,
Coextensive with everything? How could they know?
With sun's warmth wasted on a stone,
The ordinary, wide scene which begins
A kind of snow, which hesitates
Your red cheeks radiant against the wind,
at balls hit again and again toward her offspring.
References
Down the road, at Cypress Gardens, a woman
That images of roads, whether composed
To have been claimed by what we see of what
Sits at the limit of a kind of world
Only a fox whose den I cannot find.
then takes a step back, to be safe as she reaches.
XV. The International Circumpolar Stations: The Greely Expedition
And I would like
Billows the fog, cloaks
No comments:
Post a Comment