The Tombs Of The Kings By Mathilde Blind

The Tombs Of The Kings Where the mummied Kings of Egypt, wrapped in linen fold on fold, Couched for ages in their coffins, crowned with…

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The Torrent By Mathilde Blind

The Torrent OH torrent, roaring in thy giant fall, And thund’ring grandly o’er th’ opposing blocks, Thy voice, far louder than the lion’s call, Through…

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The Woods Shake In An Ague-Fit By Mathilde Blind

The Woods Shake In An Ague-Fit The woods shake in an ague-fit, The mad wind rocks the pine, From sea to sea the white gulls…

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The Wanderer By Mathilde Blind

The Wanderer ON unknown paths I falter forth, A homeless wand’rer in the world; Doubtful I flit across the earth, Whither by blowing fates I’m…

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The Wind By Mathilde Blind

The Wind ACROSS the barren moors the wild, wild wind Went sweeping on, and with his sobs and shrieks Filled the still night, and tore…

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Thou Walkest With Me By Mathilde Blind

Thou Walkest With Me Thou walkest with me as the spirit-light Of the hushed moon, high o’er a snowy hill, Walks with the houseless traveller…

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Untimely Love By Mathilde Blind

Untimely Love Peace, throbbing heart, nor let us shed one tear O’er this late love’s unseasonable glow; Sweet as a violet blooming in the snow,…

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To Hope By Mathilde Blind

To Hope OH come, thou power divine, Thou lovely spirit with the wings of light, And let thy dewy eyes Shed their sweet influences on…

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Time’s Shadow By Mathilde Blind

Time’s Shadow Thy life, O Man, in this brief moment lies: Time’s narrow bridge whereon we darkling stand, With an infinitude on either hand Receding…

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To A Friend By Mathilde Blind

To A Friend With a Volume of Verses. TO you who dwell withdrawn, above The world’s tumultuous strife, And, in an atmosphere of love, Have…

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To Memory By Mathilde Blind

To Memory Oh in this dearth and winter of the soul, When even Hope, still wont to soar and sing, Droopeth, a starveling bird whose…

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To The Obelisk By Mathilde Blind

To The Obelisk DURING THE GREAT FROST, 1881. Thou sign-post of the Desert! Obelisk, Once fronting in thy monumental pride Egypt’s fierce sun, that blazing…

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Welcome To Egypt By Mathilde Blind

Welcome To Egypt The Palms stood motionless as Pyramids Against the golden halo of the sky; Interminable crops of wheat and rye Mantled the plain…

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We Met As Strangers By Mathilde Blind

We Met As Strangers We met as strangers on life’s lonely way, And yet it seemed we knew each other well; There was no end…

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What Magic Is There By Mathilde Blind

What Magic Is There What magic is there in thy mien What sorcery in thy smile, Which charms away all cark and care, Which turns…

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When You Wake By Mathilde Blind

When You Wake When you wake from troubled slumbers With a dream-bewildered brain, And old leaves which no man numbers Chattering tap against the pane;…

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Why Will You Haunt Me By Mathilde Blind

Why Will You Haunt Me Why will you haunt me unawares, And walk into my sleep, Pacing its shadowy thoroughfares, Where long-dried perfume scents the…

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Winding All My Life About Thee By Mathilde Blind

Winding All My Life About Thee Winding all my life about thee, Let me lay my lips on thine; What is all the world without…

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What Is Divinity By Wallace Stevens

What Is Divinity What is divinity if it can come Only in silent shadows and in dreams? Shall she not find in comforts of the…

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Anecdote Of The Jar By Wallace Stevens

Anecdote Of The Jar I placed a jar in Tennessee, And round it was, upon a hill. It made the slovenly wilderness Surround that hill….

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A High-Toned Old Christian Woman By Wallace Stevens

A High-Toned Old Christian Woman Poetry is the supreme fiction, madame. Take the moral law and make a nave of it And from the nave…

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A Postcard From The Volcano By Wallace Stevens

A Postcard From The Volcano Children picking up our bones Will never know that these were once As quick as foxes on the hill; And…

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A Disillusionment Of Ten O’clock By Wallace Stevens

A Disillusionment Of Ten O’Clock The houses are haunted By white night-gowns. None are green, Or purple with green rings, Or green with yellow rings,…

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A Rabbit As King Of The Ghosts By Wallace Stevens

A Rabbit As King Of The Ghosts The difficulty to think at the end of day, When the shapeless shadow covers the sun And nothing…

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Another Weeping Woman By Wallace Stevens

Another Weeping Woman Pour the unhappiness out From your too bitter heart, Which grieving will not sweeten. Poison grows in this dark. It is in…

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Bantams In Pine-Woods By Wallace Stevens

Bantams In Pine-Woods Chieftain Iffucan of Azcan in caftan Of tan with henna hackles, halt! Damned universal cock, as if the sun Was blackmoor to…

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Continual Conversation With A Silent Man By Wallace Stevens

Continual Conversation With A Silent Man The old brown hen and the old blue sky, Between the two we live and die– The broken cartwheel…

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Disillusionment Of Ten O’clock By Wallace Stevens

Disillusionment Of Ten O’Clock The houses are haunted By white night-gowns. None are green, Or purple with green rings, Or green with yellow rings, Or…

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Contrary Theses (Ii) By Wallace Stevens

Contrary Theses (Ii) One chemical afternoon in mid-autumn, When the grand mechanics of earth and sky were near; Even the leaves of the locust were…

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Domination Of Black By Wallace Stevens

Domination Of Black At night, by the fire, The colors of the bushes And of the fallen leaves, Repeating themselves, Turned in the room, Like…

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Farewell To Florida By Wallace Stevens

Farewell To Florida I Go on, high ship, since now, upon the shore, The snake has left its skin upon the floor. Key West sank…

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It Must Give Pleasure By Wallace Stevens

It Must Give Pleasure I To sing jubilas at exact, accustomed times, To be crested and wear the mane of a multitude And so, as…

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Final Soliloquy Of The Interior Paramour By Wallace Stevens

Final Soliloquy Of The Interior Paramour Light the first light of evening, as in a room In which we rest and, for small reason, think…

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Gray Room By Wallace Stevens

Gray Room Although you sit in a room that is gray, Except for the silver Of the straw-paper, And pick At your pale white gown;…

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Frogs Eat Butterflies, Snakes Eat Frogs, Hogs Eat Snakes, Men Eat Hogs By Wallace Stevens

Frogs Eat Butterflies, Snakes Eat Frogs, Hogs Eat Snakes, Men Eat Hogs It is true that the rivers went nosing like swine, Tugging at banks,…

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Hymn From A Watermelon Pavilion By Wallace Stevens

Hymn From A Watermelon Pavilion You dweller in the dark cabin, To whom the watermelon is always purple, Whose garden is wind and moon, Of…

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In The Carolinas By Wallace Stevens

In The Carolinas The lilacs wither in the Carolinas. Already the butterflies flutter above the cabins. Already the new-born children interpret love In the voices…

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Jasmine’s Beautiful Thoughts Underneath The Willow By Wallace Stevens

Jasmine’s Beautiful Thoughts Underneath the Willow My titillations have no foot-notes And their memorials are the phrases Of idiosyncratic music. The love that will not…

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Le Monocle De Mon Oncle By Wallace Stevens

Le Monocle De Mon Oncle “Mother of heaven, regina of the clouds, O sceptre of the sun, crown of the moon, There is not nothing,…

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Looking Across The Fields And Watching The Birds Fly By Wallace Stevens

Looking Across The Fields And Watching The Birds Fly Among the more irritating minor ideas Of Mr. Homburg during his visits home To Concord, at…

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Madame La Fleurie By Wallace Stevens

Madame La Fleurie Weight him down, O side-stars, with the great weightings of the end. Seal him there. He looked in a glass of the…

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No Possum, No Sop, No Taters By Wallace Stevens

No Possum, No Sop, No Taters He is not here, the old sun, As absent as if we were asleep. The field is frozen. The…

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Nomad Exquisite By Wallace Stevens

Nomad Exquisite As the immense dew of Florida Brings forth The big-finned palm And green vine angering for life, As the immense dew of Florida…

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Not Ideas About The Thing But The Thing Itself By Wallace Stevens

Not Ideas About The Thing But The Thing Itself At the earliest ending of winter, In March, a scrawny cry from outside Seemed like a…

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Poem Written At Morning By Wallace Stevens

Poem Written At Morning A sunny day’s complete Poussiniana Divide it from itself. It is this or that And it is not. By metaphor you…

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Oak Leaves Are Hands By Wallace Stevens

Oak Leaves are Hands In Hydaspia, by Howzen Lived a lady, Lady Lowzen, For whom what is was other things. Flora she was once. She…

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Phases By Wallace Stevens

Phases I. There’s a little square in Paris, Waiting until we pass. They sit idly there, They sip the glass. There’s a cab-horse at the…

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Of Modern Poetry By Wallace Stevens

Of Modern Poetry The poem of the mind in the act of finding What will suffice. It has not always had To find: the scene…

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Peter Quince At The Clavier By Wallace Stevens

Peter Quince At The Clavier I Just as my fingers on these keys Make music, so the self-same sounds On my spirit make a music,…

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Poetry Is A Destructive Force By Wallace Stevens

Poetry Is A Destructive Force That’s what misery is, Nothing to have at heart. It is to have or nothing. It is a thing to…

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Repetitions Of A Young Captain By Wallace Stevens

Repetitions of a Young Captain A tempest cracked on the theatre. Quickly, The wind beat in the roof and half the walls. The ruin stood…

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Study Of Two Pears By Wallace Stevens

Study Of Two Pears I Opusculum paedagogum. The pears are not viols, Nudes or bottles. They resemble nothing else. II They are yellow forms Composed…

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Six Significant Landscapes By Wallace Stevens

Six Significant Landscapes I An old man sits In the shadow of a pine tree In China. He sees larkspur, Blue and white, At the…

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Sea Surface Full Of Clouds By Wallace Stevens

Sea Surface Full Of Clouds In that November off Tehuantepec, The slopping of the sea grew still one night And in the morning summer hued…

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Sunday Morning By Wallace Stevens

Sunday Morning 1 Complacencies of the peignoir, and late Coffee and oranges in a sunny chair, And the green freedom of a cockatoo Upon a…

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Tattoo By Wallace Stevens

Tattoo The light is like a spider. It crawls over the water. It crawls over the edges of the snow. It crawls under your eyelids…

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Table Talk By Wallace Stevens

Table Talk Granted, we die for good. Life, then, is largely a thing Of happens to like, not should. And that, too, granted, why Do…

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Tea At The Palaz Of Hoon By Wallace Stevens

Tea At The Palaz Of Hoon Not less because in purple I descended The western day through what you called The loneliest air, not less…

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The Auroras Of Autumn By Wallace Stevens

The Auroras of Autumn This is where the serpent lives, the bodiless. His head is air. Beneath his tip at night Eyes open and fix…

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The Death Of A Soldier By Wallace Stevens

The Death Of A Soldier Life contracts and death is expected, As in season of autumn. The soldier falls. He does not become a three-days…

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