Coextensive with everything? How could they know?
I seek, above all, in the wandering
Reshaping magnified, each risen flake
Silent patch of ultimate paint. You are
By the design of our own silent eyes
As if your absence now concluded long ago.
"Be off!" say Winter's snows;
then takes a step back, to be safe as she reaches.
Away, my songs, must we go
And trumpet at his lips; nor does he cast
Upon from the right by far trees, that white place
I. Further Exploration of Spitsbergen
Like an old soldier, wakeful, in his tent!
My only thought is for what has
Clear-voiced despite its years, strong, eloquent—
How bittersweet it is, on winter's night,
The form sought for centuries by
A matter of getting all that right . . .
In realms of dingy gloom and deep crevasse