In the Carolinas
by Wallace Stevens (1877-1955)

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 mother,
How is it that your aspic nipples
For once vent honey?

The pine-tree sweetens my body,
The white iris beautifies me.

Views: 19