That's lovely, E7. Thank you.
Wallace Stevens is superb.
And the Slavs again....
When the moon is lying on the window sill
Like a slice of casaba, when it's stuffy and
The door's been shut, when houses stand
Transfixed by the blue glycenia's spell,
And there's cold water in a clay cup,
A snowy towel, a candle -- Everything
Is as for a mass. But silence is continuing
To thunder, and something rises up,
Billows out from the fearful dark where it stayed,
From Rembrandtian corners takes shape, unbidden.
Then subsides, sinks back, and again is hidden.
But I'm never going to be afraid...
Solitude's trapped me. The landlady's cat, quite
Black, stares like the eye of endless
Years. My mirror-twin is friendless.
I'll sleep soundly. Good night, good night!
Anna Akhmatova |
