There are no calls from the outside. Miracles are the perversity of literature. We should know that by now. Only that these never-revealed connections of things lead us oddly on. Caesar's legions entering Greenland's ice, the scout far in front wanting to do battle where there are no enemies, never were any enemies. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LOVE AT SEA by THEOPHILE GAUTIER THE LIGHT OF STARS by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW GRANDMOTHER'S TEACHING by ALFRED AUSTIN SONGS OF NIGHT TO MORNING: 4 by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) STANZA by LOUISA SARAH BEVINGTON A WEEK IN A BOY'S LIFE by JACQUES BOE |