And the traveller hopes: "Let me be far from any
Physician"; and the ports have names for the sea;
The citiless, the corroding, the sorrow
And North means to all: "Reject!"
And the great plains are for ever where the cold fish is hunted
And everywhere; the light birds flicker and flaunt;
Under the scolding flag the lover
Of islands may see at last,
Faintly, his limited hope; and he nears the glitter
Of glaciers; the sterile immature mountains intense
In the abnormal day of this world, and a river's
Fan-like polyp of sand.
W.H Auden, Journey to Iceland
Ever since my 6th grade project on international cultures I have longed to go to Iceland. Longed for glittering glaciers where the ports have names for the sea, where the cold fish is hunted and the northern lights glisten and the girls are blonder than anything you've ever seen before.
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