The snowflakes are swirling, blotting out
Although December's frost killed the winter crop,
Homeward into the howling woods, although
Figures of light and dark, these two are walking
I bring down a bit of its light
Escapees from the cold work of living,
And all at once it is the meadow I walked in at ten,
Toward the still dab of white that oscillates
The form sought for centuries by
Dreaming time has reversedand you,
Clear-voiced despite its years, strong, eloquent
XVII. Greenland
That desire has ever built, have approached
Silence, are in his handbirds in a snare;
And half-starved foxes shake and paw
The edge of that other square cut from the right
Beyond ice floe and berg and ice-bound sea,
Partly stone, partly the absence of stone,
The pain of being born into matter.
Although December's frost killed the winter crop,
Homeward into the howling woods, although
Figures of light and dark, these two are walking
I bring down a bit of its light
Escapees from the cold work of living,
And all at once it is the meadow I walked in at ten,
Toward the still dab of white that oscillates
The form sought for centuries by
Dreaming time has reversedand you,
Clear-voiced despite its years, strong, eloquent
XVII. Greenland
That desire has ever built, have approached
Silence, are in his handbirds in a snare;
And half-starved foxes shake and paw
The edge of that other square cut from the right
Beyond ice floe and berg and ice-bound sea,
Partly stone, partly the absence of stone,
The pain of being born into matter.