by Wallace Stevens

    I

    Among twenty snowy mountains，

    The only moving thing

    Was the eye of the blackbird.

    II

    I was of three minds，

    Like a tree

    In which there are three blackbirds.

    III

    The blackbird whirled in the autumn winds.

    It was a small part of the pantomime.

    IV

    A man and a woman

    Are one.

    A man and a woman and a blackbird

    Are one.

    V

    I do not know which to prefer，

    The beauty of inflections

    Or the beauty of innuendoes¹，

    The blackbird whistling

    Or just after.

    VI

    Icicles filled the long window

    With barbaric glass.

    The shadow of the blackbird

    Crossed it， to and fro.

    The mood

    Traced in the shadow

    An indecipherable cause.

    VII

    O thin men of Haddam，

    Why do you imagine golden birds？

    Do you not see how the blackbird

    Walks around the feet

    Of the women about you？

    VIII

    I know noble accents

    And lucid²， inescapable rhythms；

    But I know， too，

    That the blackbird is involved

    In what I know.

    IX

    When the blackbird flew out of sight，

    It marked the edge

    Of one of many circles.

    X

    At the sight of blackbirds

    Flying in a green light，

    Even the bawds of euphony³

    Would cry out sharply.

    XI

    He rode over Connecticut

    In a glass coach.

    Once， a fear pierced him，

    In that he mistook

    The shadow of his equipage

    For blackbirds.

    XII

    The river is moving.

    The blackbird must be flying.

    XIII

    It was evening all afternoon.

    It was snowing

    And it was going to snow.

    The blackbird sat

    In the cedar-limbs.

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