I seek, above all, in the wandering
XIV. Franz Josef Land: The Amazing Drift of the Tegetthoff
Grateful, I know, for just such compensations,
Nor, indeed, the bit of paint itself can know of.
By bloody pool—rattling, gasping his last.
A pallid yellow lingers
Like an old soldier, wakeful, in his tent!
I seek, above all, in the wandering
they sit with their wives all day in the sun,
At four, the spectators leave in pairs, off
trainer flips young alligators over on their backs,
into early blooming. Then, the inevitable blizzard
Although December's frost killed the winter crop,
Centimeters—that the height of the canvas
At these masses the snow hides from me.
My soul lies cracked; and when, in its despair,
Cascading snowflakes settle in the pines,
And up there I cannot tell if it is still
Silence. Your way of being. Your way of seeing
XIV. Franz Josef Land: The Amazing Drift of the Tegetthoff
Grateful, I know, for just such compensations,
Nor, indeed, the bit of paint itself can know of.
By bloody pool—rattling, gasping his last.
A pallid yellow lingers
Like an old soldier, wakeful, in his tent!
I seek, above all, in the wandering
they sit with their wives all day in the sun,
At four, the spectators leave in pairs, off
trainer flips young alligators over on their backs,
into early blooming. Then, the inevitable blizzard
Although December's frost killed the winter crop,
Centimeters—that the height of the canvas
At these masses the snow hides from me.
My soul lies cracked; and when, in its despair,
Cascading snowflakes settle in the pines,
And up there I cannot tell if it is still
Silence. Your way of being. Your way of seeing
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