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Read more poems by Wallace Stevens: Wallace Stevens Poems at Poetry X.

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Not Ideas About The Thing But The Thing Itself

Wallace Stevens

At the earliest ending of winter,
In March, a scrawny cry from outside
Seemed like a sound in his mind.

He knew that he heard it,
A bird's cry, at daylight or before,
In the early March wind.

The sun was rising at six,
No longer a battered panache above snow...
It would have been outside.

It was not from the vast ventriloquism
Of sleep's faded papier-mâché...
The sun was coming from the outside.

That scrawny cry&mdasp;It was
A chorister whose c preceded the choir.
It was part of the colossal sun,

Surrounded by its choral rings,
Still far away. It was like
A new knowledge of reality.

Added: 24 Aug 2001 | Last Read: 19 Jul 2018 11:16 PM | Viewed: 10040 times

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URL: http://plagiarist.com/poetry/1016/ | Viewed on 19 July 2018.
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