Wallace Stevens - Six Significant Landscapes lyrics
[Wallace Stevens - Six Significant Landscapes lyrics]
An old man sit's
In the shadow of a pine tree in China
He sees larkspur, blue and white
At the edge of the shadow, move in the wind
His beard moves in the wind
The pine tree moves in the wind
Thus water flows over weeds
The night is of the colour
Of a woman's arm: Night, the female
Obscure, fragrant and supple
Conceals herself a pool shines
Like a bracelet shaken in a dance
I measure myself against a tall tree
I find that I am much taller
For I reach right up to the sun, with my еye
And I reach to the shorе of the sea
With my ear nevertheless, I dislike
The way ants crawl in and out of my shadow
When my dream was near the moon
The white folds of it's gown
Filled with yellow light
The soles of it's feet grew red
Its hair filled
With certain blue crystallizations
From stars, not far off
Not all the knives of the lamp-posts
Nor the chisels of the long streets
Nor the mallets of the domes
And high towers, can carve
What one star can carve
Shining through the grape leaves
Rationalists, wearing square hats
Think, in square rooms
Looking at the floor, looking at the ceiling
They confine themselves
To right-angled triangles
If they tried rhomboids
Cones, waving lines, ellipses -
As, for example
The ellipse of the half-moon -
Rationalists would wear sombreros
In the shadow of a pine tree in China
He sees larkspur, blue and white
At the edge of the shadow, move in the wind
His beard moves in the wind
The pine tree moves in the wind
Thus water flows over weeds
The night is of the colour
Of a woman's arm: Night, the female
Obscure, fragrant and supple
Conceals herself a pool shines
Like a bracelet shaken in a dance
I measure myself against a tall tree
I find that I am much taller
For I reach right up to the sun, with my еye
And I reach to the shorе of the sea
With my ear nevertheless, I dislike
The way ants crawl in and out of my shadow
When my dream was near the moon
The white folds of it's gown
Filled with yellow light
The soles of it's feet grew red
Its hair filled
With certain blue crystallizations
From stars, not far off
Not all the knives of the lamp-posts
Nor the chisels of the long streets
Nor the mallets of the domes
And high towers, can carve
What one star can carve
Shining through the grape leaves
Rationalists, wearing square hats
Think, in square rooms
Looking at the floor, looking at the ceiling
They confine themselves
To right-angled triangles
If they tried rhomboids
Cones, waving lines, ellipses -
As, for example
The ellipse of the half-moon -
Rationalists would wear sombreros