I probably say this every time but, this is a good one.

On their own little seat cushions, wearing soft caps
Your red cheeks radiant against the wind,
VIII. Russia: The Great Northern Expedition
into early blooming.
Then, the inevitable blizzard
I've drifted somewhat from the distant heart
Watching calisthenics from the grandstands.
They move against, or through, or by, or toward.
Of too much truth to do much more than lie
Pallid waste where no radiant fathomers,
Still has to be intoned, as in a lonely
She stretches a hand toward the toothy sleeper
More beautiful than anything in this world.
The Boyg of Normandy . . .
Everywhere, utterly.
That square Oh, 56 x 56
Only whirled snow heaped up by whirled snow,
III. Chronology of Northern Exploration
for the flushed boys are muscular
I bring down a bit of its light



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