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
- Closed Path by Rabindranath Tagore
- John Milton As Author of Pornographic Verse: An Extempore Upon a Faggot
- The Last Wolf by Mary TallMountain
- Юлия Жадовская – Да, я вижу
- Sing of the Banner at Day-Break. by Walt Whitman
- Medusa by Sylvia Plath
- Sonnet: On seeing Miss Helen Maria Williams weep at a tale of distress by William Wordsworth
- Paradise Lost: Book 03 poem – John Milton poems
- Геннадий Айги – Дом в поле
- vestiges.html
- Иван Киуру – Медовый аптекарь
- Sonnet 03: Canzone poem – John Milton poems
- Ярослав Смеляков – Шинель
- Tell me not here, it needs not saying poem – Alfred Edward Housman
- Ярослав Смеляков – Здравствуй, Пушкин
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).
