Wallace Stevens Poems

Weight him down, O side-stars, with the great weightings of
the end.
Seal him there. He looked in a glass of the earth and thought
he lived in it.
...

The light is like a spider.
It crawls over the water.
It crawls over the edges of the snow.
It crawls under your eyelids
...

Children picking up our bones
Will never know that these were once
As quick as foxes on the hill;
...

There is a great river this side of Stygia
Before one comes to the first black cataracts
And trees that lack the intelligence of trees.
...

I

Just as my fingers on these keys
Make music, so the self-same sounds
...

I
An old man sits
In the shadow of a pine tree
In China.
...

A sunny day's complete Poussiniana
Divide it from itself. It is this or that
And it is not.
By metaphor you paint
...

The houses are haunted
By white night-gowns.
None are green,
Or purple with green rings,
...

My candle burned alone in an immense valley.
Beams of the huge night converged upon it,
Until the wind blew.
The beams of the huge night
...

The difficulty to think at the end of day,
When the shapeless shadow covers the sun
...