Out in a world of death far to the northward lying,Under the sun and the moon, under the dusk and the day;Under the glimmer of stars and the purple of sunsets dying,Wan and waste and white, stretch the great lakes away. Never a bud of spring, never a laugh of summer,Never a dream of love, never a song of bird;But only the silence and white, the shores that grow chiller and dumber,Wherever the ice...
The Winter Lakes
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