Love for Nothing

found in ‘Le Monocle de Mon Oncle’ a poem by Wallace Stevens


I mocked myself alone,

A thinking stone

In a sea of spuming thoughts.

A bird sought out his choir

Of wind, wet and wing,

A much-crumpled thing:

The end of love

For nothing.

Apples, like skulls,

Came rotting to the ground,

The fruit of love

For nothing.

The firefly’s electric stroke

Ticked the time

Of one more year;

Ephemeral blues

Merged into one

Universal hue:

The laughing sky,

Washed by winter rains,

Wild with motion and full of din.

A blue pigeon

Circled the sky around and round

On sidelong wing,

And, tired of flight,

Fluttered to the ground.