The Man with the Blue Guitar

Things as they are Are changed upon the blue guitar. And they cannot take the form Of things that are not there.

Of moon that is not there, And moonlight on the farm. The man with the blue guitar Wanders, concerned with sound, And hours that are small or great, A dove that will not wait.

Things are no more what they are. The night has not distracted it. The beauty is not your ideal, She who is waiting now, The sound of all the pause, A little in surprise, In the last appeal, Only beauty that can stay, And shields from sorrow.

— Wallace Stevens, “The Man with the Blue Guitar”

• Wallace Stevens