Wallace Stevens Quotes on Noise
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A breath upon her hand Muted the night. She turned - A cymbal crashed, Amid roaring horns.
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There was such idiot minstrelsy in rain, So many clappers going without bells, That these bethous compose a heavenly gong. One voice repeating, one tireless chorister, The phrases of a single phrase, ke-ke, A single text, granite monotony
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Red-in-red repetitions never going Away,a little rusty, a little rouged, A little roughened and ruder, a crown The eye could not escape, a red renown Blowing itself upon the tedious ear.