From Allen Grossman's "Of the Great House":
Beautiful poems, like flowers! Beautiful
Poemslike webs, like seas working, like
Wind webbing black water blown flat with gray
Flowers of the foam. Beautiful poems risen
Against the granite cliff in waves, exploding
The flinty shingle upward through the high
Window of the tower light. Beautiful poems
That I vowed, darkening the world,
Thronging the Avenue with the sweet sanity
Of profound tone, blind beautiful poems
My servant animals, hunting the object of
Desire equal to mind's desire of an object
Ringing and ringing through the midnight house,
Like an harassing phone call: Who is there?
Breathings only; and, behind that, the obscure
City of perpetual cry, whose citizens are
All mute, all dying, all enraged
Beautiful poems. Beautiful, beautiful poems.
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