Wednesday, October 26, 2011

Invective Against Swans (Wallace Stevens, 1879-1955)


The soul, O ganders, flies beyond the parks
And far beyond the discords of the wind.

A bronze rain from the sun descending marks
The death of summer, which that time endures

Like one who scrawls a listless testament
Of golden quirks and Paphian caricatures,

Bequeathing your white feathers to the moon
And giving your bland motions to the air.

Behold, already on the long parades
The crows anoint the statues with their dirt.

And the soul, O ganders, being lonely, flies
Beyond your chilly chariots, to the skies.
--From Harmonium (1923)

No comments:

Post a Comment

The following are subject to deletion:

--Comments with outside links
--Off topic comments
--Advertising and general spam
--Hate speech
--Name calling
--Bad language
--Accusations
--Pornography

We are Indies




If you are an Indie writer,

please consider joining



on Facebook.