Unfortunately there is nothing more inane than an Easter carol. It is a religious perversion of the activity of Spring in our blood. - Wallace Stevens

Let’s see the very thing and nothing else. Let’s see it with the hottest fire of sight. Burn everything not part of it to ash. Trace the gold sun about the whitened sky Without evasion by a single metaphor. Look at it in its essential barrenness And say this, this is the centre that I seek.

If sex were all, then every trembling hand
Could make us squeak, like dolls, the wished-for words.

Of the Surface of Things

In my room, the world is beyond my understanding;
But when I walk I see that it consists of three or four
Hills and a cloud.