Many a mile of tundra have I trod,
And eyed the bright and baleful aureola
Of frosty Northern lights, on frosty Northern nights,
Taking my rest on journeys circumpolar;
Many a league of salt and scorpions
My boots have swallowed with their leather tongues,
In wild and desolate lands, where wild and desolate bands
Of mad Mings roam among yet madder Hmongs.