Le Monocle de Mon Oncle (Wallace Stevens Poems)
"Mother of heaven, regina of the clouds,O sceptre of the sun, crown of the moon,There is not nothing, no, no, ...
"Mother of heaven, regina of the clouds,O sceptre of the sun, crown of the moon,There is not nothing, no, no, ...
IGo on, high ship, since now, upon the shore,The snake has left its skin upon the floor.Key West sank downward ...
ITo sing jubilas at exact, accustomed times,To be crested and wear the mane of a multitudeAnd so, as part, to ...
One chemical afternoon in mid-autumn,When the grand mechanics of earth and sky were near;Even the leaves of the locust were ...
It is true that the rivers went nosing like swine,Tugging at banks, until they seemedBland belly-sounds in somnolent troughs,That the ...
You dweller in the dark cabin,To whom the watermelon is always purple,Whose garden is wind and moon,Of the two dreams, ...
The houses are hauntedBy white night-gowns.None are green,Or purple with green rings,Or green with yellow rings,Or yellow with blue rings.None ...
Pour the unhappiness outFrom your too bitter heart,Which grieving will not sweeten.Poison grows in this dark.It is in the water ...
The lilacs wither in the Carolinas.Already the butterflies flutter above the cabins.Already the new-born children interpret loveIn the voices of ...
Call the roller of big cigars, The muscular one, and bid him whip In kitchen cups concupiscent curds. Let the ...
Children picking up our bones Will never know that these were once As quick as foxes on the hill; And ...
The houses are haunted By white night-gowns. None are green, Or purple with green rings, Or green with yellow rings, ...
At the earliest ending of winter, In March, a scrawny cry from outside Seemed like a sound in his mind. ...
At night, by the fire, The colors of the bushes And of the fallen leaves, Repeating themselves, Turned in the ...
I Just as my fingers on these keys Make music, so the self-same sounds On my spirit make a music, ...
Light the first light of evening, as in a room In which we rest and, for small reason, think The ...
Although you sit in a room that is gray, Except for the silver Of the straw-paper, And pick At your ...
One must have a mind of winter To regard the frost and the boughs Of the pine-trees crusted with snow; ...
I An old man sits In the shadow of a pine tree In China. He sees larkspur, Blue and white, ...
1 Complacencies of the peignoir, and late Coffee and oranges in a sunny chair, And the green freedom of a ...
After the final no there comes a yes And on that yes the future world depends. No was the night. ...
She sang beyond the genius of the sea. The water never formed to mind or voice, Like a body wholly ...
First Girl When this yokel comes maundering, Whetting his hacker, I shall run before him, Diffusing the civilest odors Out ...
My candle burned alone in an immense valley. Beams of the huge night converged upon it, Until the wind blew. ...
There is a great river this side of Stygia Before one comes to the first black cataracts And trees that ...
The difficulty to think at the end of day, When the shapeless shadow covers the sun And nothing is left ...
Chieftain Iffucan of Azcan in caftan Of tan with henna hackles, halt! Damned universal cock, as if the sun Was ...
The poem of the mind in the act of finding What will suffice. It has not always had To find: ...
As the immense dew of Florida Brings forth The big-finned palm And green vine angering for life, As the immense ...
There it was, word for word, The poem that took the place of a mountain. He breathed its oxygen, Even ...
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