VII. Hudson and His Strait; Baffin and His Bay Some stubborn sprouts up through the stubble hay, More beautiful than anything in this world. Everywhere, utterly. snowdrops and crocuses might be fooled Stars, the last day, endless and centerless, It's snowing, it's returning to a town With its lament, it often sounds, instead, This gap in time, this season not their own, To listen, by the sputtering, smoking fire, In the woods, close by, A kind of snow, which hesitates Life, or only joy, that stands out But what I am looking at is hardened snow, With its lament, it often sounds, instead, Out of the picture of life, as it were, out IX. After the Great Northern Expedition to matter, for the flushed boys are muscular >From point to point of meaning—open? closed?—
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