The Doctor Of Geneva
Wallace Stevens
The doctor of Geneva stamped the sand That lay impounding the Pacific swell, Patted his stove-pipe hat and tugged his shawl. Lacustrine man had never been assailed By such long-rolling opulent cataracts, Unless Racine or Bossuet held the like. He did not quail. A man who used to plumb The multifarious heavens felt no awe Before these visible, voluble delugings, Which yet found means to set his simmering mind Spinning and hissing with oracular Notations of the wild, the ruinous waste, Until the steeples of his city clanked and sprang In an unburgherly apocalypse. The doctor used his handkerchief and sighed.
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- Wallace Stevens : The Snow Man
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- Wallace Stevens : The Death Of A Soldier
- Wallace Stevens : The Curtains In The House Of The Metaphysician
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- Wallace Stevens : The Comedian As The Letter C: 03 - Approaching Carolina
- Wallace Stevens : The Comedian As The Letter C: 02 - Concerning The Thunderstorms Of Yucatan
- Wallace Stevens : The Comedian As The Letter C: 01 - The World Without Imagination
- Wallace Stevens : The Bird With The Coppery, Keen Claws
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