Allowing me to let your picture form and wake
Among us, only Alberti, then Sangallo,
In search of brighter green to come. No way!
Beyond ice floe and berg and ice-bound sea,
Dreaming time has reversed—and you,
X. The British Attack on the Arctic
And half-starved foxes shake and paw
visitors' dugout. The osprey whose nest is atop
Will sound, then the Lord's face will luminesce
More beautiful than anything in this world.
My soul lies cracked; and when, in its despair,
—Now that you notice it—have just moved past
Glimmering of light:
Sculpting each tree to fit your ghostly form.
And the worlds—skiffs rudderless, rolling on—
And still my mind goes groping in the mud to bring
And he is swathed in ever-petrified dread;
Of observation lying on the ground
Coextensive with everything? How could they know?