Allowing me to let your picture form and wakeTo listen, by the sputtering, smoking fire,To listen, by the sputtering, smoking fire,Absurdly, my eyes can only see the arcPreface to the 1948 EditionThis third day of our January thaw,Gray the cloud-like oaksThe winter road from the St. Simeon farmSought to contrive, intending to expressTo follow in the path of their brief blossomingTo run, as in the time of the bee, seekingI know,Allowing me to let your picture form and wakedemonstrating their talent for comedystrokeCovering the landdemonstrating their talent for comedystrokeShe stretches a hand toward the toothy sleeperHe terrifies the Vast, he seems so wild;XXI. Flying in the Arctic
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