The snow and the twilight have turned the air as cloudy blue as seaglass, so that trees, telephone poles, houses with yellow-lit windows, fade off much more quickly into the dusk as into fog. I shoveled the front walk and the driveway twice in the same hour and they don't look it. Three days ago, I walked into Harvard Square under such warmth of the sun that I was carrying my jacket over my arm before I'd gotten ten feet from the subway, thinking that any day now I could sing "Wild Mountain Thyme." This ghost-blue storm is midwinter, not less than a week from spring. I baked apples for dessert; I'm translating Greek lyric. Right now, I can live with this.
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- 1: Cormorant to rock, gulls from the storm
- 2: Afghanistan banana stand
- 3: She was an excellent governess and a most respectable woman
- 4: The dark sleek heads are risen from the water
- 5: And the shrouds hum full of the gale of the grave and the keel goes out to the sea
- 6: In my time on earth, I said too much, but not nearly, not nearly enough
- 7: If I press button A, all my pennies will go
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