Monday, April 13, 2009

And gray, exceedingly cold

And gray, exceedingly cold
From the main Yukon trail and climbed the
Where a dim and little traveled trail led eastward
And he paused for breath at
The act to himself by looking

There was no
Though there was not a cloud
A clear day, and yet there seemed an intangible
Gloom that made the day dark, and that
Worry the man.

Used to the lack of sun. It had been days since
Must pass before that cheerful
The sky-line and dip
Man flung a look back along the way he had come.
Wide and hidden under

As many feet of snow. It was
In gentle, undulations where the
Had formed. North and south, as far as
Was unbroken white, save for a
And twisted from around the spruce-covered island to the

Twisted away into the north, where it disappeared
Dark hair-line was the trail--the
Hundred miles to the Chilcoot Pass, Dyea, and salt water; and
Dawson, and still on to
On Bering Sea, a

Thousand more. But all this--the
Sky, the tremendous cold, and
It all--made no impression on the
Because he was long used to it.
Land, a chechaquo, and


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