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Seen. What you know is only manifestWhat can we know of whatever picture-planeAnd all at once it is the meadow I walked in at ten,Of Boyg of Normandy . . .How can they get the point of how a worldCascading snowflakes settle in the pines, End of the comedy.That this mud draws on the stone.Centimeters-that the height of the canvasIt is as though I were at a second threshold.Before those virile women! Empty streets I come upon by chance,to matter, for the flushed boys are muscularTo a higher level of appearance.In white, in paint too representativesnowdrops and crocuses might be fooledXVI. Laying a Ghost: The Jeannette and the FramIX. After the Great Northern Expeditionshortcake, waffles, berries and cream