Author: Wallace Stevens

The house was quiet and the world was calm. The reader became the book; and summer night Was like the […]

After the final no there comes a yes And on that yes the future world depends. No was the night. […]

Ariel was glad he had written his poems. They were of a remembered time Or of something seen that he […]

The old brown hen and the old blue sky, Between the two we live and die The broken cartwheel on […]

At the earliest ending of winter, In March, a scrawny cry from outside Seemed like a sound in his mind. […]

I placed a jar in Tennessee, And round it was, upon a hill. It made the slovenly wilderness Surround that […]

A sunny day’s complete Poussiniana Divide it from itself. It is this or that And it is not. By metaphor […]

One’s grand flights, one’s Sunday baths, One’s tootings at the weddings of the soul Occur as they occur. So bluish […]

I An old man sits In the shadow of a pine tree In China. He sees larkspur, Blue and white, […]

The poem of the mind in the act of finding What will suffice. It has not always had To find: […]

Twenty men crossing a bridge, Into a village, Are twenty men crossing twenty bridges, Into twenty villages, Or one man […]

Children picking up our bones Will never know that these were once As quick as foxes on the hill; And […]

Although you sit in a room that is gray, Except for the silver Of the straw-paper, And pick At your […]

Chieftain Iffucan of Azcan in caftan Of tan with henna hackles, halt! Damned universal cock, as if the sun Was […]