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Where does this all end? What is the vanishing
Still has to be intoned, as in a lonely
I draw near to one of them, the lowest,
Summer bees were saying
In realms of dingy gloom and deep crevasse
Like theirs ends? From what distant point of vision
Not so much of place as of renewed hope,
So you can watch me watch uplifted snow
And off the white smoke swims
Dismal, endless plain—
Are gliding toward me on the ice into
References
In a single floral stroke,
Some stubborn sprouts up through the stubble hay,
Introduction by Vilhjalmur Stefansson
Calling me to you with wild gesturings
End of the comedy.
Looms in the air, deliberate and slow,
In Winter Haven, the ballplayers are stretching