Wallace Stevens - Not Ideas About the Thing, but the Thing Itself lyrics
[Wallace Stevens - Not Ideas About the Thing, but the Thing Itself lyrics]
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 mache
The sun was coming from the outside
That scrawny cry -It was
A chorister whose c preceded the choir
It was part of the colossal sun
Surrounded by it's choral rings
Still far away it was like
A new knowledge of reality
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 mache
The sun was coming from the outside
That scrawny cry -It was
A chorister whose c preceded the choir
It was part of the colossal sun
Surrounded by it's choral rings
Still far away it was like
A new knowledge of reality