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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=481191" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>90 North</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">At home, in my flannel gown, like a bear to its floe,<br>I clambered to bed; up the globe's impossible sides<br>I sailed all night&mdash;till at last, with my black beard,<br>My furs and my dogs, I stood at the northern pole.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">There in the childish night my companions lay frozen,<br>The stiff fur knocked at my starveling throat,<br>And I gave my great sigh: the flakes came huddling,<br>Were they really my end? In the darkness I turned to my rest.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">&mdash;Here, the flag snaps in the glare and silence<br>Of the unbroken ice. I stand here,<br>The dogs bark, my beard is black, and I stare<br>At the North Pole . . .<br>   And now what? Why, go back.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Turn as I please, my step is to the south.<br>The world&mdash;my world spins on this final point<br>Of cold and wretchedness: all lines, all winds<br>End in this whirlpool I at last discover.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And it is meaningless. In the child's bed<br>After the night's voyage, in that warm world<br>Where people work and suffer for the end<br>That crowns the pain&mdash;in that Cloud-Cuckoo-Land</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I reached my North and it had meaning.<br>Here at the actual pole of my existence,<br>Where all that I have done is meaningless,<br>Where I die or live by accident alone&mdash;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Where, living or dying, I am still alone;<br>Here where North, the night, the berg of death<br>Crowd me out of the ignorant darkness,<br>I see at last that all the knowledge</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I wrung from the darkness&mdash;that the darkness flung me&mdash;<br>Is worthless as ignorance: nothing comes from nothing,<br>The darkness from the darkness. Pain comes from the darkness<br>And we call it wisdom. It is pain.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Anonymous submission.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Randall+Jarrell">Randall Jarrell</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=481191" data-title="90 North de Randall Jarrell" data-description="At home, in my flannel gown, like a bear to its floe,
I clambered to bed; up the globe's impossible sides
I sailed all night&mdash;till at last, with my black beard,
My furs and my dogs, I stood at the northern pole.

There in the childish night m..."></div>
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