Janice; "How countlessly they congregate o'er our tumultuous snow, which flows in shapes as tall as trees. When wintry winds do blow, as if with keenness for our fate, our faltering few steps on. To white rest, and a place of rest. Invisible at dawn.
And yet with neither love nor hate, those stars like some snow-white. Minerva's snow-white marble eyes. Without the gift of sight. " 光线在通过这个窗口