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Wallace Stevens

Wallace Stevens

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
And their desires.
 
I might make many images of this
And twang nobler notes
Of larger sentiment.
 
But I invoke the monotony of monotonies
Free from images and change.
 
Why should I savor love
With tragedy or comedy?
 
Clasp me,
Delicatest machine.

#AmericanWriters

Autres oeuvres par Wallace Stevens...
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
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
Phases

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 corner,
A Postcard From the Volcano

Children picking up our bones Will never know that these were on… As quick as foxes on the hill; And that in autumn, when the grape… Made sharp air sharper by their sm…
Of Modern Poetry

The poem of the mind in the act of… What will suffice. It has not alw… To find: the scene was set; it rep… Was in the script. Then the theatre was changed
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 dawdle in such dre… As they are used to wear, and let…
Looking Across the Fields and Watching the Birds Fly

Among the more irritating minor id… Of Mr. Homburg during his visits… To Concord, at the edge of things… To think away the grass, the trees… Not to transform them into other t…
 1
Infanta Marina

Her terrace was the sand And the palms and the twilight. She made of the motions of her wri… The grandiose gestures Of her thought.
Notes Toward a Supreme Fiction

And for what, except for you, do… Do I press the extremest book of… Close to me, hidden in me day and… In the uncertain light of single,… Equal in living changingness to th…
 2
Song

There are great things doing In the world, Little rabbit. There is a damsel, Sweeter than the sound of the will…
 1
 1
Tattoo

The light is like a spider. It crawls over the water. It crawls over the edges of the sn… It crawls under your eyelids And spreads its webs there—
To the One of Fictive Music

Sister and mother and diviner love… And of the sisterhood of the livin… Most near, most clear, and of the… And of the fragrant mothers the mo… And queen, and of diviner love the…
Le Monocle de Mon Oncle

“Mother of heaven, regina of the c… O sceptre of the sun, crown of the… There is not nothing, no, no, neve… Like the clashed edges of two word… And so I mocked her in magnificen…
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
 1
The Man Whose Pharynx Was Bad

The time of year has grown indiffe… Mildew of summer and the deepening… Are both alike in the routine I k… I am too dumbly in my being pent. The wind attendant on the solstice…



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