The illustration
is nothing to you without the application.
You lack half wit. You crush all the particles down
into close conformity, and then walk back and forth on them.
Sparkling chips of rock
are crushed down to the level of the parent block.
Were not ‘impersonal judment in aesthetic
matters, a metaphysical impossibility,’ you
might fairly achieve
it. As for butterflies, I can hardly conceive
of one’s attending upon you, but to question
the congruence of the complement is vain, if it exists.
End of the poem
15 random poems
- Владимир Маяковский – Смыкай ряды
- A New Psalm for the Chapel of Kilmarnock by Robert Burns
- No, Love Is Not Dead by Robert Desnos
- In Imitation of Chaucer poem – Alexander Pope poems | Poetry Monster
- Like Truthless Dreams, So Are My Joys Expired by Sir Walter Raleigh
- Solar Eclipse by Siegfried Sassoon
- The Immortal Part poem – A. E. Housman
- A Sign-Seeker by Thomas Hardy
- Easter Communion poem – Gerard Manley Hopkins poems
- Федор Сваровский – Путешественники во времени 7
- Владимир Маяковский – Notre-Dame
- The Sultans Palace
- In Sutton Woods poem – Alfred Austin
- Владимир Костров – То в ночи она вспыхнет, как спичка
- A Fable by William Cowper
Some external links:
Duckduckgo.com – the alternative in the US
Quant.com – a search engine from France, and also an alternative, at least for Europe
Yandex – the Russian search engine (it’s probably the best search engine for image searches).
