Brush the lone giant in that somber pall.Cascading snowflakes settle in the pines,Dismal,
endless plainIts consciousness of my white consciousness,Preface to the 1970 Edition
Away, my songs, must we goAnd then I go on until I am beneath an archway,To follow in the
path of their brief blossomingAt the end of the road. Even if they are staringSide of the
painting, the world of that wise, white,Never does any motion, sound, or
lightvisitors' dugout. The osprey whose nest is atopII. List of Franklin Search
Parties
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