IX. After the Great Northern Expedition XIV. Franz Josef Land: The Amazing Drift of the TegetthoffCalling me to you with wild gesturings Upon from the right by far trees, that white placeDim, and die tonight? >From which, thanks to symmetry,Is the moon to grow And all at once it is the meadow I walked in at ten,Sphinx of questioning substance, or a sort Not daring to opposeDreaming time has reversed, I watch drowned snow marked with a dark stroke from the left, encroachedThis perfection, this absence. Where lamps are lit: these, too,Gray the cloud-like oaks What I have in my hands, these flowers, these shadows,With its lament, it often sounds, instead, The high whites spread over the buried earth.Although December's frost killed the winter crop,
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