the lion sleeps in the sun.
its nose on its paws.
it can kill a man.
Tags: poetry lions wallace-stevens poetry-is-a-destructive-force
Sigh for me, night-wind, in the noisy leaves of the oak. / I am tired. Sleep for me, heaven over the hill. / Shout for me, loudly and loudly, joyful sun, when you rise.
Wallace StevensAfter the final no there comes a yes.
Wallace StevensReality is the beginning not the end,
Naked Alpha, not the hierophant Omega,
Of dense investiture, with luminous vassals.
The most beautiful thing in the world is, of course, the world itself.
Wallace StevensThe 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 been cold a long time
To behold the junipers shagged with ice,
The spruces rough in the distant glitter
Of the January sun; and not to think
Of any misery in the sound of the wind,
In the sound of a few leaves,
Which is the sound of the land
Full of the same wind
That is blowing in the same bare place
For the listener, who listens in the snow,
And, nothing himself, beholds
Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.
Wallace Stevens, The Collected Poems of Wallace Stevens. (Vintage; Reissue edition February 19, 1990)
They will get it straight one day at the Sorbonne.
We shall return at twilight from the lecture
Pleased that the irrational is rational
The partaker partakes of that which changes him. The child that touches takes character from the thing, the body, it touches.
Wallace StevensIt can never be satisfied, the mind, never.
Wallace StevensIt is not in the premise that reality
Is a solid. It may be a shade that traverses
A dust, a force that traverses a shade.
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