Page:Harmonium - Wallace Stevens.djvu/26

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Le Monocle de Mon Oncle

I "Mother of heaven, regina of the clouds,O sceptre of the sun, crown of the moon,There is not nothing, no, no, never nothing,Like the clashed edges of two words that kill."And so I mocked her in magnificent measure.Or was it that I mocked myself alone?I wish that I might be a thinking stone.The sea of spuming thought foists up againThe radiant bubble that she was. And thenA deep up-pouring from some saltier wellWithin me, bursts its watery syllable.
IIA red bird flies across the golden floor.It is a red bird that seeks out his choirAmong the choirs of wind and wet and wing.A torrent will fall from him when he finds.Shall I uncrumple this much-crumpled thing?I am a man of fortune greeting heirs;For it has come that thus I greet the spring.These choirs of welcome choir for me farewell.No spring can follow past meridian.Yet you persist with anecdotal blissTo make believe a starry connaissance.

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