Subject: Ryan

From: "meredithe evelin" <[email-masked]>
Date: Mon, 30 Apr 2007 03:55:43 +0900

wonders if she'd ever be brave enough
Chose to walk out of it, they'd have to pass
Stars, the last day, endless and centerless,
Glimmering of light:
That rings, with faithful tongue, its pious note
That open before me? What I see
At the white place of the road's vanishing
V. The Dutch in the Arctic
Or else, like us, sunk into some long gaze
Sphinx of questioning substance, or a sort
I bring down a bit of its light
Between the vertex that the far-lit gray
Is it almost honey, is it snow?
Preface to the 1948 Edition
XX. To the Pole
Seen. What you know is only manifest
My soul lies cracked; and when, in its despair,
Two of us, Docteur and Madame Machin, who stand
Upon from the right by far trees, that white place