It is time. It is time. It is almost day Almost day and, God knows why, There are so many ways to whirl the snow, The snow that whirls and stays, All day. It finds a vein within your arm, Then creeps away. That snow...
Sketch: Vol. 37
, Article 17.
Available at: http://lib.dr.iastate.edu/sketch/vol37/iss4/17