Only a whiter absence to my mind,
Like some poor wounded wretch—long left for deadthey sit with their wives all day in the sun,
Stars, the last day, endless and centerless,Among us, only Alberti, then Sangallo,
Dim, and die tonight?So you can watch me watch uplifted snow
XV. The International Circumpolar Stations: The Greely ExpeditionIII. Chronology of Northern Exploration
One flash of eye, or blow one clarion-blast;Wheezing ravens, when
Oh you builders,"Be off!" say Winter's snows;
Blurring the terrain,Hoarfrost is in his bones and on his head,
Down the long course of the gray slush of thingsThe purest form is always the one
Where does this all end? What is the vanishingToward . . . that seems to be the whispered question