At night, by the fire, <br />The colors of the bushes <br />And of the fallen leaves, <br />Repeating themselves, <br />Turned in the room, <br />Like the leaves themselves <br />Turning in the wind. <br />Yes: but the color of the heavy hemlocks <br />Came striding. <br />And I remembered the cry of the peacocks. <br /> <br />The colors of their tails <br />Were like the leaves themselves <br />Turning in the wind, <br />In the twilight wind. <br />They swept over the room, <br />Just as they flew from the boughs of the hemlocks <br />Down to the ground. <br />I heard them cry -- the peacocks. <br />Was it a cry against the twilight <br />Or against the leaves themselves <br />Turning in the wind, <br />Turning as the flames <br />Turned in the fire, <br />Turning as the tails of the peacocks <br />Turned in the loud fire, <br />Loud as the hemlocks <br />Full of the cry of the peacocks? <br />Or was it a cry against the hemlocks? <br /> <br />Out of the window, <br />I saw how the planets gathered <br />Like the leaves themselves <br />Turning in the wind. <br />I saw how the night came, <br />Came striding like the color of the heavy hemlocks <br />I felt afraid. <br />And I remembered the cry of the peacocks.<br /><br />Wallace Stevens<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/domination-of-black/
