Wallace Stevens
Wallace Stevens
Wallace Stevens
Wallace Stevens
Wallace Stevens
Wallace Stevens
Wallace Stevens
Wallace Stevens
Wallace Stevens
Wallace Stevens
Wallace Stevens
Wallace Stevens
Wallace Stevens
Wallace Stevens
Wallace Stevens
Wallace Stevens
Wallace Stevens
Wallace Stevens
Wallace Stevens
Wallace Stevens
Wallace Stevens
Wallace Stevens
Wallace Stevens
Wallace Stevens
Wallace Stevens
Wallace Stevens
Wallace Stevens
Wallace Stevens
Wallace Stevens
Wallace Stevens
Wallace Stevens
Wallace Stevens
Wallace Stevens
Wallace Stevens
Wallace Stevens
Wallace Stevens
Wallace Stevens
Wallace Stevens
Wallace Stevens
Wallace Stevens
Wallace Stevens
Wallace Stevens
Wallace Stevens
Wallace Stevens
Wallace Stevens
Wallace Stevens
Wallace Stevens
Wallace Stevens
Wallace Stevens
Wallace Stevens
Wallace Stevens
Wallace Stevens
Wallace Stevens
Wallace Stevens
Wallace Stevens
Wallace Stevens
Wallace Stevens
Wallace Stevens
Wallace Stevens
Wallace Stevens
Wallace Stevens
Wallace Stevens
Wallace Stevens
Wallace Stevens
Wallace Stevens
Wallace Stevens
Wallace Stevens
Wallace Stevens
Wallace Stevens
Wallace Stevens
In the morning,
The jack-rabbit sang to the Arkansaw.
He carolled in caracoles
On the feat sandbars.
The black man said,
"Now, grandmother,
Crochet me this buzzard
On your winding-sheet,
And do not forget his wry neck
After the winter."
The black man said,
"Look out, O caroller,
The entrails of the buzzard
Are rattling."
The Jack-Rabbit was written by Wallace Stevens.