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By trees—or might see as the masonry
their bellies, they're out cold, instantaneously
I seek, above all, in the wandering
Chose to walk out of it, they'd have to pass
demonstrating their talent for comedy—stroke
In dense bare branches, or the ubiquitous
Your red cheeks radiant against the wind,
At the end of the road. Even if they are staring
XV. The International Circumpolar Stations: The Greely Expedition
Close at the end of distance the two Chose
XVIII. The Northeast and Northwest Passages
That patch of white at the very end of the road
Some stubborn sprouts up through the stubble hay,
Reshaping magnified, each risen flake
XII. The Mystery of the Missing Ships: The Franklin Search
Or else, like us, sunk into some long gaze
Will sound, then the Lord's face will luminesce
At the white place of the road's vanishing
Alberti, Brunelleschi, Sangallo,