As if your absence now concluded long ago.
Like an old soldier, wakeful, in his tent!
Winds blow sharp, what then?
I. Arctic Scenery
With my foot the supple ball, for perhaps
Coextensive with everything? How could they know?
And piled up at the base of the columns
whose soft bristles graze the top-racks.
Stunned in their voiceless way to be alive
—The place the road ends, that patch of white paint
Palladio who beckons from the other shore,
That only you and I can know. Les deux
Summer bees were saying
I do not betray you, I still go forward,
Seems reflected in the infinite of the lamps.
She stretches a hand toward the toothy sleeper
Choces, Mère and Père, undreaming even of fields
Green lilac buds appear that won't survive
In Winter Haven, the ballplayers are stretching
Like an old soldier, wakeful, in his tent!
Winds blow sharp, what then?
I. Arctic Scenery
With my foot the supple ball, for perhaps
Coextensive with everything? How could they know?
And piled up at the base of the columns
whose soft bristles graze the top-racks.
Stunned in their voiceless way to be alive
—The place the road ends, that patch of white paint
Palladio who beckons from the other shore,
That only you and I can know. Les deux
Summer bees were saying
I do not betray you, I still go forward,
Seems reflected in the infinite of the lamps.
She stretches a hand toward the toothy sleeper
Choces, Mère and Père, undreaming even of fields
Green lilac buds appear that won't survive
In Winter Haven, the ballplayers are stretching
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