Sunday Morning

Death is the mother of beauty; hence from her. This is the root of beauty in thought, To create the sunflowers and roses, Such ideas toward a mythic morning.

To come into the blue of the air, Pour upon the ones who do not have Through the tinted light of heaven’s sway, Bring in the rays of this abstract.

The audacious verb as floods it in the end; All morning the audible voice Rings by hearts above that rise for more, And Love in this way comes to them.

• Wallace Stevens