I think the Hemlock likes to stand
Upon a Marge of Snow —
It suits his own Austerity —
And satisfies an awe
That men, must slake in Wilderness —
And in the Desert — cloy —
An instinct for the Hoar, the Bald —
Lapland’s — necessity —
The Hemlock’s nature thrives — on cold —
The Gnash of Northern winds
Is sweetest nutriment — to him —
His best Norwegian Wines —
To satin Races — he is nought —
But Children on the Don,
Beneath his Tabernacles, play,
And Dnieper Wrestlers, run.
feels a wilderness deeply rooted in her heart,and also feels she “thrives” on the “cold’ and the “wilderness”,its reading moves me to tears,just as reading another of her poem,”Had I not seen the Sun”