Allowing me to let your picture form and wake
Is dumb; he is the mute white stony shape
V. The Dutch in the Arctic
Sculpting each tree to fit your ghostly form
marked with a dark stroke from the left, encroached
Of too much truth to do much more than lie
XV. The International Circumpolar Stations: The Greely Expedition
Place of absorbing snow, itself to be
Deep in the fog that quenches every ray,
Where lamps are lit: these, too,
Out of the picture of life, as it were, out
will be penciled on the coffeeshop menus.
Glimmering of light:
XXI. Flying in the Arctic
Want anything said at all, which I still doubt)
IV. The Paths to Cathay
Empty streets I come upon by chance,
A matter of getting all that right . . .
Amid the gloom, there, on the pole, stands black