"Cortege for Rosenbloom" is a poem from Wallace Stevens's first book, Harmonium. First published in 1921, it is in the public domain in the United States and similar jurisdictions. Cortege for Rosenbloom
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| - Cortège for Rosenbloom (en)
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| - "Cortege for Rosenbloom" is a poem from Wallace Stevens's first book, Harmonium. First published in 1921, it is in the public domain in the United States and similar jurisdictions. Cortege for Rosenbloom (en)
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| - Now, the wry Rosenbloom is dead
And his finical carriers tread
On a hundred legs, the tread
Of the dead.
Rosenbloom is dead.
They carry the wizened one
Of the color of horn
To the sullen hill,
Treading a tread
In unison for the dead.
Rosenbloom is dead.
The tread of the carriers does not halt
On the hill, but turns
Up the sky.
They are bearing his body into the sky.
It is the infants of misanthropes
And the infants of nothingness
That tread
The wooden ascents
Of the ascending of the dead.
It is turbans they wear
And boots of fur
As they tread the boards
In a region of frost,
Viewing the frost,
To a chirr of gongs
And a chitter of cries
And the heavy thrum
Of the endless tread
That they tread;
To a jangle of doom
And a jumble of words
Of the intense poem
Of the strictest prose
Of Rosenbloom.
And they bury him there,
Body and soul,
In a place in the sky.
The lamentable tread!
Rosenbloom is dead. (en)
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| - Cortege for Rosenbloom (en)
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| - "Cortege for Rosenbloom" is a poem from Wallace Stevens's first book, Harmonium. First published in 1921, it is in the public domain in the United States and similar jurisdictions. Cortege for Rosenbloom Now, the wry Rosenbloom is dead And his finical carriers tread On a hundred legs, the tread Of the dead. Rosenbloom is dead. They carry the wizened one Of the color of horn To the sullen hill, Treading a tread In unison for the dead. Rosenbloom is dead. The tread of the carriers does not halt On the hill, but turns Up the sky. They are bearing his body into the sky. It is the infants of misanthropes And the infants of nothingness That tread The wooden ascents Of the ascending of the dead. It is turbans they wear And boots of fur As they tread the boards In a region of frost, Viewing the frost, To a chirr of gongs And a chitter of cries And the heavy thrum Of the endless tread That they tread; To a jangle of doom And a jumble of words Of the intense poem Of the strictest prose Of Rosenbloom. And they bury him there, Body and soul, In a place in the sky. The lamentable tread! Rosenbloom is dead. (en)
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