I <br /> <br />Among twenty snowy mountains, <br />The only moving thing <br />Was the eye of the black bird. <br /> <br />II <br /> <br />I was of three minds, <br />Like a tree <br />In which there are three blackbirds. <br /> <br />III <br /> <br />The blackbird whirled in the autumn winds. <br />It was a small part of the pantomime. <br /> <br />IV <br /> <br />A man and a woman <br />Are one. <br />A man and a woman and a blackbird <br />Are one. <br /> <br />V <br /> <br />I do not know which to prefer, <br />The beauty of inflections <br />Or the beauty of innuendoes, <br />The blackbird whistling <br />Or just after. <br /> <br />VI <br /> <br />Icicles filled the long window <br />With barbaric glass. <br />The shadow of the blackbird <br />Crossed it, to and fro. <br />The mood <br />Traced in the shadow <br />An indecipherable cause. <br /> <br />VII <br /> <br />O thin men of Haddam, <br />Why do you imagine golden birds? <br />Do you not see how the blackbird <br />Walks around the feet <br />Of the women about you? <br /> <br />VIII <br /> <br />I know noble accents <br />And lucid, inescapable rhythms; <br />But I know, too, <br />That the blackbird is involved <br />In what I know. <br /> <br />IX <br /> <br />When the blackbird flew out of sight, <br />It marked the edge <br />Of one of many circles. <br /> <br />X <br /> <br />At the sight of blackbirds <br />Flying in a green light, <br />Even the bawds of euphony <br />Would cry out sharply. <br /> <br />XI <br /> <br />He rode over Connecticut <br />In a glass coach. <br />Once, a fear pierced him, <br />In that he mistook <br />The shadow of his equipage <br />For blackbirds. <br /> <br />XII <br /> <br />The river is moving. <br />The blackbird must be flying. <br /> <br />XIII <br /> <br />It was evening all afternoon. <br />It was snowing <br />And it was going to snow. <br />The blackbird sat <br />In the cedar-limbs.<br /><br />Wallace Stevens<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/thirteen-ways-of-looking-at-a-blackbird/
