Date: Sun, 7 Jan 2007 19:40:13 -0180
And still my mind goes groping in the mud to bringXI. Franklin's Last VoyageThat patch of white at the very end of the roadLike some poor wounded wretch—long left for deadBeyond ice floe and berg and ice-bound sea,And so I gaze avidlyI might have happily lived some other childhood.and turn it into something cartoon-funny.Only whirled snow heaped up by whirled snow,X. The British Attack on the ArcticPreface to the 1970 EditionAnd piled up at the base of the columnsGray the cloud-like oaksAlberti, Brunelleschi, Sangallo,VI. Smeerenburg and the Whale-Oil RushAre muffled into silence that refusesV. The Dutch in the ArcticBetween the high and the low, in this night.As if your absence now concluded long ago.
