Sonnet
Published in Poem Of The Day
Lo, even as I passed beside the booth
Of roses, and beheld them brightly twine
To damask heights, taking them as a sign
Of my own self still unconcerned with truth;
Even as I held up in hands uncouth
And drained with joy the golden-bodied wine,
Deeming it half-unworthy, half divine,
From out the sweet-rimmed goblet of my youth.
Even in that pure hour I heard the tone
Of grievous music stir in memory,
Telling me of the time already flown
From my first youth. It sounded like the rise
Of distant echo from dead melody,
Soft as a song heard far in Paradise.
About this poem
About Wallace Stevens
Wallace Stevens was born in Reading, Penn., on Oct. 2, 1879. He published numerous collections of poetry, including "Harmonium" (Knopf, 1923) and "Collected Poems" (Knopf, 1954), which won the Pulitzer Prize in 1955. He died on Aug. 2, 1955.
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The Academy of American Poets is a nonprofit, mission-driven organization, whose aim is to make poetry available to a wider audience. Email The Academy at poem-a-day[at]poets.org.
This poem is in the public domain. Published in Poem-a-Day, www.poets.org. Distributed by King Features Syndicate
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