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Wallace Stevens

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 of mothers.
 
Timeless mothers,
How is it that your aspic nipples
For once vent honey?
 
The pine-tree sweetens my body
The white iris beautifies me.

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Otras obras de Wallace Stevens...
Metaphors of a Magnifico

Twenty men crossing a bridge, Into a village, Are twenty men crossing twenty bri… Into twenty villages, Or one man
The Planet on the Table

Ariel was glad he had written his… They were of a remembered time Or of something seen that he liked… Other makings of the sun Were waste and welter
A High-Toned Old Christian Woman

Poetry is the supreme fiction, mad… Take the moral law and make a nave… And from the nave build haunted he… The conscience is converted into p… Like windy citherns hankering for…
Tea at the Palaz of Hoon

Not less because in purple I desc… The western day through what you c… The loneliest air, not less was I… What was the ointment sprinkled on… What were the hymns that buzzed be…
 1
Continual Conversation With a Silent Man

The old brown hen and the old blue… Between the two we live and die— The broken cartwheel on the hill. As if, in the presence of the sea, We dried our nets and mended sail
 1
Study of Two Pears

Opusculum paedagogum. The pears are not viols, Nudes or bottles. They resemble nothing else. II
Madame la Fleurie

Weight him down, O side-stars, wi… the end. Seal him there. He looked in a gl… he lived in it. Now, he brings all that he saw int…
Statistics

Napoleon shifted Restless in the old sarcophagus And murmured to a watchguard: “Who goes there?” “Twenty-one million men,
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,
 1
Frogs Eat Butterflies, Snakes Eat Frogs, Hogs Eat Snakes, Men Eat Hogs

It is true that the rivers went no… Tugging at banks, until they seeme… Bland belly-sounds in somnolent tr… That the air was heavy with the br… The breath of turgid summer, and
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. The wilderness rose up to it,
Sunday Morning

Complacencies of the peignoir, and… Coffee and oranges in a sunny chai… And the green freedom of a cockato… Upon a rug mingle to dissipate The holy hush of ancient sacrifice…
To the Roaring Wind

What syllable are you seeking, Vocalissimus, In the distances of sleep? Speak it.
Not Ideas About the Thing But the Thing Itself

At the earliest ending of winter, In March, a scrawny cry from outs… Seemed like a sound in his mind. He knew that he heard it, A bird’s cry at daylight or before…
Romance for a Demoiselle Lying in the Grass

It is grass. It is monotonous. The monotony Is like your port which conceals All your characters



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