“The palm stands on the edge of space.The wind moves slowly in the branches.The bird's fire-fangled feathers dangle down.”

“Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird"IAmong twenty snowy mountains, The only moving thing Was the eye of the blackbird. III was of three minds, Like a tree In which there are three blackbirds. IIIThe blackbird whirled in the autumn winds. It was a small part of the pantomime. IVA man and a woman Are one. A man and a woman and a blackbird Are one. VI do not know which to prefer, The beauty of inflections Or the beauty of innuendoes, The blackbird whistling Or just after. VIIcicles filled the long window With barbaric glass. The shadow of the blackbird Crossed it, to and fro. The mood Traced in the shadow An indecipherable cause. VIIO thin men of Haddam, Why do you imagine golden birds? Do you not see how the blackbird Walks around the feet Of the women about you? VIIII know noble accents And lucid, inescapable rhythms; But I know, too, That the blackbird is involved In what I know. IXWhen the blackbird flew out of sight, It marked the edge Of one of many circles. XAt the sight of blackbirds Flying in a green light, Even the bawds of euphony Would cry out sharply. XIHe rode over Connecticut In a glass coach. Once, a fear pierced him, In that he mistook The shadow of his equipage For blackbirds. XIIThe river is moving. The blackbird must be flying. XIIIIt was evening all afternoon. It was snowing And it was going to snow. The blackbird sat In the cedar-limbs.”

“The fire burns as the novel taught it how.”

“The river is moving. The blackbird must be flying.”

“We must endure our thoughts all night, until the bright obvious stands motionless in cold.”

“The Poem That Took The Place Of A MountainThere it was, word for word, The poem that took the place of a mountain. He breathed its oxygen, Even when the book lay turned in the dust of his table. It reminded him how he had needed A place to go to in his own direction How he had recomposed the pines, Shifted the rocks and picked his way among clouds For the outlook that would be right, Where he would be complete in an unexplained completion: The exact rock where his inexactness Would discover, at last, the view toward which they had edged Where he could lie and gazing down at the sea, Recognize his unique and solitary home.”

“Sigh for me, night-wind, in the noisy leaves of the oak. / I am tired. Sleep for me, heaven over the hill. / Shout for me, loudly and loudly, joyful sun, when you rise.”