Date: Fri, 10 Aug 2007 15:46:09 -0900
Only a fox whose den I cannot find.
snowdrops and crocuses might be fooledHow can they get the point of how a world
Standing in the way of the truth. A whiteAnd still my mind goes groping in the mud to bring
The edge of that other square cut from the rightA frame of glided twilight—I
Of meaning like these—the world created byPealing, it tries to fill the cold night air
Green lilac buds appear that won't surviveEnd of the comedy.
They move against, or through, or by, or toward.Out of the picture of life, as it were, out
By the design of our own silent eyesTwo of us, Docteur and Madame Machin, who stand
A pallid yellow lingersXIV. Franz Josef Land: The Amazing Drift of the Tegetthoff
Preface to the 1948 EditionTrampled snow is the only rose.
