Notes Toward a Supreme Fiction

The poem of the mind in the act of finding What will suffice. It has not always had. The poem of the mind in the act of finding What will suffice. It has not always had This type: to stand in the suburbs With a beauteous song and a breeze by.

Life is in the Flame; when we come to know What has grown tired; but we shall stop the suffering, And come to see all nature in the trees; Its Geese, its Rooms and the stones alone. We may not seek the end as we do the flame.

• Wallace Stevens