The illustration
is nothing to you without the application.
You lack half wit. You crush all the particles down
into close conformity, and then walk back and forth on them.
Sparkling chips of rock
are crushed down to the level of the parent block.
Were not ‘impersonal judment in aesthetic
matters, a metaphysical impossibility,’ you
might fairly achieve
it. As for butterflies, I can hardly conceive
of one’s attending upon you, but to question
the congruence of the complement is vain, if it exists.
End of the poem
15 random poems
- as_with_a_senryu_s_hardening_ridge.html
- Sonnet 76: Why is my verse so barren of new pride? by William Shakespeare
- An empty photo album by Raj Napal
- A Man Young And Old: VII. The Friends Of His Youth by William Butler Yeats
- Альфред де Мюссе – Слова отчаянья прекрасней всех других
- Love In Reverse by Talha Jafri
- The Results Of Thought by William Butler Yeats
- New York’s Bad Dream by Matthew Abuelo
- Валерий Брюсов – К Адалис
- At the Top of My voice by Vladimir Mayakovsky
- Ольга Седакова – И меня удивило
- Blind by Siegfried Sassoon
- Spenserian Stanza. Written At The Close Of Canto II, Book V, Of “The Faerie Queene” poem – John Keats poems
- A Gravestone by William Allingham
- The Deserted Village by Oliver Goldsmith
Some external links:
Duckduckgo.com – the alternative in the US
Quant.com – a search engine from France, and also an alternative, at least for Europe
Yandex – the Russian search engine (it’s probably the best search engine for image searches).
