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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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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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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The Planet On The Table By Wallace Stevens

The Planet On The Table Ariel was glad he had written his poems. They were of a remembered time Or of something seen that he…

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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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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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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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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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The Plot Against The Giant By Wallace Stevens

The Plot Against The Giant First Girl When this yokel comes maundering, Whetting his hacker, I shall run before him, Diffusing the civilest odors Out…

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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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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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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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Two Figures In Dense Violet Light By Wallace Stevens

Two Figures In Dense Violet Light I had as lief be embraced by the portier of the hotel As to get no more from the…

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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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The Sense Of The Sleight-Of-Hand Man By Wallace Stevens

The Sense Of The Sleight-Of-Hand Man One’s grand flights, one’s Sunday baths, One’s tootings at the weddings of the soul Occur as they occur. So…

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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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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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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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Valley Candle By Wallace Stevens

Valley Candle My candle burned alone in an immense valley. Beams of the huge night converged upon it, Until the wind blew. The beams of…

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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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The Man Whose Pharynx Was Bad By Wallace Stevens

The Man Whose Pharynx Was Bad The time of year has grown indifferent. Mildew of summer and the deepening snow Are both alike in the…

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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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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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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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Thirteen Ways Of Looking At A Blackbird By Wallace Stevens

Thirteen Ways Of Looking At A Blackbird I Among twenty snowy mountains, The only moving thing Was the eye of the black bird. II I…

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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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The Idea Of Order At Key West By Wallace Stevens

The Idea Of Order At Key West She sang beyond the genius of the sea. The water never formed to mind or voice, Like a…

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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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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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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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The Snow Man By Wallace Stevens

The Snow Man One must have a mind of winter To regard the frost and the boughs Of the pine-trees crusted with snow; And have…

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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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The Man On The Dump By Wallace Stevens

The Man On The Dump Day creeps down. The moon is creeping up. The sun is a corbeil of flowers the moon Blanche Places there,…

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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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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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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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To The One Of Fictive Music By Wallace Stevens

To The One Of Fictive Music Sister and mother and diviner love, And of the sisterhood of the living dead Most near, most clear, and…

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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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The House Was Quiet And The World Was Calm By Wallace Stevens

The House Was Quiet And The World Was Calm The house was quiet and the world was calm. The reader became the book; and summer…

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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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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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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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The Well Dressed Man With A Beard By Wallace Stevens

The Well Dressed Man With A Beard After the final no there comes a yes And on that yes the future world depends. No was…

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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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The High-Toned Old Christian Woman By Wallace Stevens

The 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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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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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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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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The River Of Rivers In Connecticut By Wallace Stevens

The River Of Rivers In Connecticut There is a great river this side of Stygia Before one comes to the first black cataracts And trees…

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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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The Emperor Of Ice-Cream By Wallace Stevens

The Emperor Of Ice-Cream Call the roller of big cigars, The muscular one, and bid him whip In kitchen cups concupiscent curds. Let the wenches…

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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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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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The Poem That Took The Place Of A Mountain By Wallace Stevens

The Poem That Took The Place Of A Mountain There it was, word for word, The poem that took the place of a mountain. He…

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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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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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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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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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The Man With The Blue Guitar By Wallace Stevens

The Man With The Blue Guitar The man bent over his guitar, A shearsman of sorts. The day was green. They said, ‘You have a…

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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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