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En Route. By: Duncan Campbell Scott. The train has stop for no apparent reason In the wilds;. A frozen lake is level and fretted over With rippled wind lines;. The sun is burning in the South; the season Is winter trembling at a touch of spring.
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En Route By: Duncan Campbell Scott
The train has stop for no apparent reason In the wilds; A frozen lake is level and fretted over With rippled wind lines;
The sun is burning in the South; the season Is winter trembling at a touch of spring
A little hill with birches and a ring Of cedars –all so still, so pure with snow
Long wisps of shadow from the naked birches Lie on the white in lines of cobweb-grey;
From the cedar roots the snow has shrunk away, One almost hears it’s tinkle as it thaws
There are traces of wild things in the snow- Partridge at play, tracks of the fox’s paws The broke a path to sun themselves in the trees.
They’re going fast where all impressions go On a frail substance---images like these,
Vagaries that the unconscious mind receives From nowhere and lets go to nothingness