"
NOT of all my eyes see, wandering on the world,
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZkF4eyuFBaLDpKAqGsKu6CQhaVjtOokay4V-gSmIGHn6JlyEufKkEJgL3uhkNFAjplH1_Cnmqga8Kva5iW23Fcj8ia10_pu5gIj7aTy-EXJ86MOn9YiQrYR4mXsSbqgOGFxSeh90n9eo/s1600/Lone+Snag+Ski+Trail+Trees+Pine+Snow+Sealy+Lake+MT+-+800.jpg)
Is anything a milk to the mind so, so sighs deep
Poetry to it, as a tree whose boughs break in the sky.
Say it is ashboughs: whether on a December day and furled
Fast ór they in clammyish lashtender combs creep
Apart wide and new-nestle at heaven most high.
They touch heaven, tabour on it; how their talons sweep
The smouldering enormous winter welkin!..."
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