And the whole of the soul, Swenson, As every man in Sweden will concede, Still hankers after lions, or, toshift, Still hankers… — Wallace Stevens Copy Share Image
To be young is all there is in the world. The rest is nonsenseand cant. They talk so beautifully about work and… — Wallace Stevens Copy Share Image
The President has apples on the table And barefoot servants round him, who adjust The curtains to a metaphysicalt And the banners… — Wallace Stevens Copy Share Image
My titillations have no foot-notes And their memorials are the phrases Of idiosyncratic music. — Wallace Stevens Copy Share Image
The truth in a calm world, In which there is no other meaning, itself Is calm, itself is summer and night, itself… — Wallace Stevens Copy Share Image
To-morrow when the sun, For all your images, Comes up as the sun, bull fire, Your images will have left No shadow… — Wallace Stevens Copy Share Image
The mind is the great poem ofwinter, the man, Who, to find what will suffice, Destroys romantic tenements Of rose and ice… — Wallace Stevens Copy Share Image
Soldier, there is a war between the mind And sky, between thought and day and night. It is For that the poet… — Wallace Stevens Copy Share Image
Poet, patting more nonsense foamed From the sea, conceive for thecourts Of these academies, the diviner health Disclosed in common forms. — Wallace Stevens Copy Share
The way through the world is more difficult to find than the way beyond it. — Wallace Stevens Copy Share
The magnificent cause of being, The imagination, the one reality In this imagined world — Wallace Stevens Copy Share
Music falls on the silence like a sense / A passion that we feel, not understand. — Wallace Stevens Copy Share
After a lustre of the moon, we say We have not the need of any paradise, We have not the need of any seducing… — Wallace Stevens Copy Share
“We live in an old chaos of the sun, Or old dependency of day and night, Or island solitude, unsponsored, free, Of that wide… — Wallace Stevens Copy Share
“Lunar Paraphrase" The moon is the mother of pathos and pity. When, at the wearier end of November, Her old light moves along the… — Wallace Stevens Copy Share
“The stars are putting on their glittering belts, They throw around their shoulders cloaks that flash Like a great shadow's last embellishment” — wallace stevens Copy Share
Unfortunately there is nothing more inane than an Easter carol. It is a religious perversion of the activity of Spring in our blood. — Wallace Stevens Copy Share
A diary is more or less the work of a man of clay whose hands are clumsy and in whose eyes there is no… — Wallace Stevens Copy Share
