Ariel was glad he had written his poems.
They were of a remembered time
Or of something seen that he liked.
Other makings of the sun
Were waste and welter
And the ripe shrub writhed.
His self and the sun were one
And his poems, although makings of his self,
Were no less makings of the sun.
It was not important that they survive.
What mattered was that they should bear
Some lineament or character,
Some affluence, if only half-perceived,
In the poverty of their words,
Of the planet of which they were part.
The Planet On The Table
Wallace Stevens
(1)
Poem topics: poverty, time, glad, character, survive, waste, sun, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
Submit Spanish Translation
Submit German Translation
Submit French Translation
Write your comment about The Planet On The Table poem by Wallace Stevens
F. Berfel: Stevens is a wizard of the imagination.
Best Poems of Wallace Stevens