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Primavera in the North

 She has danced for leagues and leagues, 
Over thorns and thistles, 
Prancing to a tune of Griegg's 
Performed on willow whistles.
Antelopes behold her, dazed, Velvet-eyed, and furry; Polar flowers, crackle-glazed, Snap beneath her hurry.
In a wig of copper wire, A gown of scalloped gauzes, She capers like a flame of fire Over Arctic mosses.
All her tears have turned to birds, All her thoughts of dolour Paint the snow with scarlet words And traceries of colour.

by Elinor Wylie
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