Quote #30
A breath upon her hand Muted the night. She turned - A cymbal crashed, Amid roaring horns.
More from Wallace Stevens
- She walked upon the grass, Still quavering. The winds were like her maids, On timid feet, Fetching her woven scarves, Yet wavering.
- Beauty is momentary in the mind - The fitful tracing of a portal; But in the flesh it is immortal. The body dies; the body's beauty lives. …
- Susanna's music touched the bawdy strings Of those white elders; but, escaping, Left only Death's ironic scraping. Now, in its immortality,…
- Upon the bank, she stood In the cool Of spent emotions. She felt, among the leaves, The dew Of old devotions.
- After the final no there comes a yes And on that yes the future world depends. No was the night. Yes is this present sun.
- In the green water, clear and warm, Susanna lay. She searched The touch of springs, And found Concealed imaginings. She sighed, For so much…
- One thing remaining, infallible, would be Enough.
- Just as my fingers on these keys Make music, so the self-same sounds On my spirit make a music, too. Music is feeling, then, not sound; And…