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
- The End of the Argument by Martina Reisz Newberry
- Ballad Of The Press-Gang At Shihao Village by Du Fu
- In the Forest of Life by Mike Yuan
- Robert Burns: Lines Written In Friars’-Carse Hermitage:
- Planetarium
- Earliest Spring by William Dean Howells
- The Cloud by Sara Teasdale
- The Waist of Time by The Waist of Time
- Robert Burns: Composed In Spring:
- In The Early Pearly Morning
- When I peruse the Conquer’d Fame. by Walt Whitman
- Love Sonnet XVII poem – Zora Bernice May Cross poems
- Winter Landscape poem – John Betjeman poems
- Владимир Высоцкий – В этом доме большом раньше пьянка была
- A Good Boy by Robert Louis Stevenson
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).
