Loading...

In the Carolinas

The lilacs wither in the Carolinas.
Already the butterflies flutter above the cabins.
Already the new-born children interpret love
In the voices of mothers.
 
Timeless mothers,
How is it that your aspic nipples
For once vent honey?
 
The pine-tree sweetens my body
The white iris beautifies me.
Other works by Wallace Stevens...



Top