4 responses

  1. The Region November

    It is hard to hear the north wind again,
    And to watch the treetops, as they sway.

    They sway, deeply and loudly, in an effort,
    So much less than feeling, so much less than speech,

    Saying and saying, the way things say
    On the level of that which is not yet knowledge:

    A revelation not yet intended.
    It is like a critic of God, the world

    And human nature, pensively seated
    On the waste throne of his own wilderness.

    Deeplier, deeplier, loudlier, loudlier,
    The trees are swaying, swaying, swaying.

    -Wallace Stevens

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