He is and may be but oh! He is, he is, This foundling of the infected past, so bright, So moving in the manner of his hand. Yet look not at his color… - Wallace Stevens
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He is and may be but oh! He is, he is, This foundling of the infected past, so bright, So moving in the manner of his hand. Yet look not at his colored eyes. Give him No names. Dismiss him from your images. The hot of him is purest in the heart.
Apotheosis is not The origin of the major man. He comes, p>Compact in invincible foils, from reason, Lighted at midnight by the studious eye, Swaddled in revery, the object of</p>The hum of thoughts evaded in the mind...
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