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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.

#Americans Modern

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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…
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One must have a mind of winter To regard the frost and the boughs Of the pine-trees crusted with sno… And have been cold a long time To behold the junipers shagged wit…
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The trade-wind jingles the rings i… by the docks on Indian River. It is the same jingle of the water… banks of the palmettoes. It is the same jingle of the red-b…
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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…
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My candle burned alone in an immen… Beams of the huge night converged… Until the wind blew. The beams of the huge night Converged upon its image,
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Opusculum paedagogum. The pears are not viols, Nudes or bottles. They resemble nothing else. II
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What is divinity if it can come Only in silent shadows and in drea… Shall she not find in comforts of… In pungent fruit and bright, green… In any balm or beauty of the earth…
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There it was, word for word, The poem that took the place of a… He breathed its oxygen, Even when the book lay turned in t… It reminded him how he had needed



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