Owl’s Clover

The mountain of thoughts Full of starshine, funeral effigies, And those pleasures akin to wisdom— Is life above self as above the earth, And noticing day sinks deep among roots, To barely taste the horizon, divine.

Between the skies of normal days, To gauge that moment—take in white sights, Becomes a soft yield, like that taste of monotone, Seen by those in Florida and the east; Without moving towards prudence or spears, None care to dread under surfaced light.

I stand awash in places as the waves flow here; There is a muffled grace, longing edges whom endure, To dream with all the clovers knee-deep in thoughts, While hymn all night, divide what speaks its whispers, And twilight lingers across this vastness alone, Hope to feel deep in smallness, until thoughts are high.

• Wallace Stevens