Beneath a pile of corpses, lying massed
giddy as good kids playing hookey. Now,
Cascading snowflakes settle in the pines,
My keyhole blows a gale
on their own little seat cushions, wearing soft caps
XI. Franklin's Last Voyage
XII. The Mystery of the Missing Ships: The Franklin Search
My soul lies cracked; and when, in its despair,
Close at the end of distance the two Chose
Of the matter of snow here. Both of us have grasped
In the dread circle hemmed by glaciers,
The winged winds, captives of that age-old foe
As it sits there like an eventual
Sphinx of questioning substance, or a sort
Glimmering of light:
A frame of glided twilight—I
When Arctic winds crack down from Canada
XIV. Franz Josef Land: The Amazing Drift of the Tegetthoff
Of too much truth to do much more than lie
giddy as good kids playing hookey. Now,
Cascading snowflakes settle in the pines,
My keyhole blows a gale
on their own little seat cushions, wearing soft caps
XI. Franklin's Last Voyage
XII. The Mystery of the Missing Ships: The Franklin Search
My soul lies cracked; and when, in its despair,
Close at the end of distance the two Chose
Of the matter of snow here. Both of us have grasped
In the dread circle hemmed by glaciers,
The winged winds, captives of that age-old foe
As it sits there like an eventual
Sphinx of questioning substance, or a sort
Glimmering of light:
A frame of glided twilight—I
When Arctic winds crack down from Canada
XIV. Franz Josef Land: The Amazing Drift of the Tegetthoff
Of too much truth to do much more than lie
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