A little formatting help for your pretty poem:

One must have a mind of winter

To regard the frost and the boughs

Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;

And have been cold a long time

To behold the glaciers shagged with ice,

The whitecaps rough in the distant glitter

Of the January sun; and not to think

Of any misery in the sound of the wind,

In the sound of a few waves,

Which is the sound of the sea

Full of the same wind

That is blowing in the same bare place

For the listener, who listens from the ice,

And, nothing himself, beholds

Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.

Kind of depressing verseage there, dude.

@Millennial_Falcon @Vindicator @sensitive