Lunar Paraphrase - poem by Wallace Stevens |

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Lunar Paraphrase
by Wallace Stevens

The moon is the mother of pathos and pity.


When, at the wearier end of November,

Her old light moves along the branches,

Feebly, slowly, depending upon them;

When the body of Jesus hangs in a pallor,

Humanly near, and the figure of Mary,

Touched on by hoar-frost, shrinks in a shelter

Made by the leaves, that have rotted and fallen;

When over the houses, a golden illusion

Brings back an earlier season of quiet

And quieting dreams in the sleepers in darkness-


The moon is the mother of pathos and pity.


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