They will get it straight one day at the Sorbonne. We shall return at twilight from the lecture Pleased that the irrational is rational - Wallace Stevens

I am the spouse. She took her necklace off And laid it in the sand. As I am, I am The spouse. She opened her stone-studded belt.<p> I am the spouse, divested of bright gold, The spouse beyond emerald or amethyst, Beyond the burning body that I bear. <p>I am the woman stripped more nakedly Than nakedness, standing before an inflexible Order, saying I am the contemplated spouse.

Red-in-red repetitions never going Away,a little rusty, a little rouged, A little roughened and ruder, a crown<p>The eye could not escape, a red renown Blowing itself upon the tedious ear.

"Lunar Paraphrase"

The moon is the mother of pathos and pity.

When, at the wearier end of November,
Her old light moves along the branches,
Feebly, slowly, depending upon them;
When the body of Jesus hangs in a pallor,
Humanly near, and the figure of Mary,
Touched on by hoar-frost, shrinks in a shelter
Made by the leaves, that have rotted and fallen;
When over the houses, a golden illusion
Brings back an earlier season of quiet
And quieting dreams in the sleepers in darkness — The moon is the mother of pathos and pity.