The fire burns as the novel taught it how. (Wallace Stevens (1879-1955), U.S. poet. "The Novel.")

Describe with deepened voice And noble imagery His slowly-falling round Down to the fishy sea. (Wallace Stevens (1879-1955), U.S. poet. "Some Friends from Pascagoula.")

When over the houses, a golden illusion Brings back an earlier season of quiet And quieting dreams in the sleepers in darkness The moon is the mother of pathos and pity. (Wallace Stevens (1879-1955), U.S. poet. "Lunar Paraphrase.")

The reason can give nothing at all Like the response to desire. (Wallace Stevens (1879-1955), U.S. poet. "Dezembrum," Parts of a World (1942). Concluding lines.)

We have been a little insane about the truth. We have had an obsession. (Wallace Stevens (1879-1955), U.S. poet. Lecture. "The Noble Rider and the Sound of Words," The Necessary Angel (first published 1942, repr. 1951).)

The grackles sing avant the spring Most spiss oh! Yes, most spissantly. They sing right puissantly. (Wallace Stevens (1879-1955), U.S. poet. "Snow and Stars.")

Of a green evening, clear and warm, She bathed in her still garden, while The red-eyed elders watching, felt The basses of their beings throb In witching chords, and their thin blood Pulse pizzicati of Hosanna. (Wallace Stevens (1879-1955), U.S. poet. Peter Quince at the Clavier (l. 10-15). . . Collected Poems [Stevie Smith]. James MacGibbon, ed. (1976) New Directions.)

Who can think of the sun costuming clouds When all people are shaken Or of night endazzled, proud, When people awaken And cry and cry for help? (Wallace Stevens (1879-1955), U.S. poet. "A Fading of the Sun.")

如何坚持崇高,confr吗ont the mockers, The mickey mockers And plated pairs? (Wallace Stevens (1879-1955), U.S. poet. "The American Sublime.")

How red the rose that is the soldier's wound, The wounds of many soldiers, the wounds of all The soldiers that have fallen, red in blood, The soldier of time grown deathless in great size. (Wallace Stevens (1879-1955), U.S. poet. "Esth?tique du Mal.")