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
- Иван Крылов – Лев состаревшийся (Басня)
- At Galway Races by William Butler Yeats
- For the Bed at Kelmscott by William Morris
- Memory by William Wordsworth
- A Lovers’ Quarrel by Robert Browning
- Weak Is The Will Of Man, His Judgement Blind by William Wordsworth
- Then by Philip Levine
- Streets Of Teal by Vaishnavi Prakash
- Николай Гумилев – Ночь
- new_land.html
- Canto I poem – Ezra Pound poems
- Юнна Мориц – Вечерний свет
- Николай Некрасов – Весна
- Гавриил Державин – На храм при Гапсале
- The Blackbird by William Barnes
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).
