Wallace Stevens - Phases lyrics

There’s a little square in Paris
Waiting until we pass they sit idly there
They sip the glass

There’s a cab-horse at the corner
There's rain the season grieves
It was silver once, and green with leaves

There’s a parrot in a window
Will see us on parade
Hear the loud drums roll and serenade

This was the salty taste of glory
That it was not like Agamemnon’s story
Only, an eyeball in the mud, and Hopkins
Flat and pale and gory!

But the bugles, in the night
Were wings that bore
To where our comfort was

Arabesques of candle beams, winding
Through our heavy dreams

Winds that blew where the bending iris grew

Birds of intermitted bliss
Singing in the night's abyss

Vines with yellow fruit, that fell
Along the walls that bordered Hell

Death's nobility again
Beautified the simplest men
Fallen Winkle felt the pride of Agamemnon
When he died

What could London’s work and waste
Give him to that salty, sacrificial taste?

What could London’s sorrow bring
To that short, triumphant sting?