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...THE SONG OF THE SMOKE by WILLIAM EDWARD BURGHARDT DU BOIS WE'LL GO NO MORE THE WOODLAND WAY by THEODORE FAULLAIN DE BANVILLE ALL IN THE FAMILY by BERTON BRALEY PRECIOUS STONES; AN INCIDENT IN MODERN HISTORY by CHARLES STUART CALVERLEY WANDERERS by CHARLES STUART CALVERLEY |