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Domination Of Black

At night, by the fire,

The colors of the

And of the fallen leaves,

Repeating themselves,

Turned in the room,

Like the leaves

Turning in the wind.

Yes: but the color of the heavy

Came striding.

And I remembered the cry of the peacocks.

The colors of their

Were like the leaves

Turning in the wind,

In the twilight wind.

They swept over the room,

Just as they flew from the boughs of the

Down to the ground.

I heard them cry — the peacocks.

Was it a cry against the

Or against the leaves

Turning in the wind,

Turning as the

Turned in the fire,

Turning as the tails of the

Turned in the loud fire,

Loud as the

Full of the cry of the peacocks?

Or was it a cry against the hemlocks?

Out of the window,

I saw how the planets

Like the leaves

Turning in the wind.

I saw how the night came,

Came striding like the color of the heavy hemlocksI felt afraid.

And I remembered the cry of the peacocks.

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Wallace Stevens

Wallace Stevens (October 2, 1879 – August 2, 1955) was an American modernist poet. He was born in Reading, Pennsylvania, educated at Harvard and…

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