Wallace Stevens - The Bird with the Coppery, Keen Claws lyrics

Above the forest of the parakeets
A parakeet of parakeets prevails
A pip of life amid a mort of tails

(The rudiments of tropics are around
Aloe of ivory, pear of rusty rind)
His lids are white because his eyes are blind

He is not paradise of parakeets
Of his gold ether, golden alguazil
Except because he broods there and is still

Panache upon panache, his tails deploy
Upward and outward, in green-vented forms
His tip a drop of water full of storms

But though the turbulent tinges undulate
As his pure intellect appliеs it's laws
He moves not on his coppery, keen claws

Hе munches a dry shell while he exerts
His will, yet never ceases, perfect cock
To flare, in the sun pallor of his rock