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