To an Old Philosopher in Rome

The brown bird in the bush Sings like an old philosopher, With a big old beard. He talks of light And a green sapling beneath A bloom of yellow sun. We see his thoughts In the twinkling of the leaves, And in between the shadows.

Is he not wise? Advise me, he says With his beak like a stylus, Advice of bright pollen And quite lovely shoes.

• Wallace Stevens