Page:Harmonium - Wallace Stevens.djvu/123

 She How is it that my saints from Voragine, In their embroidered slippers, touch your spleen? He Old pantaloons, duenna of the spring! She Imagination is the will of things Thus, on the basis of the common drudge, You dream of women, swathed in indigo, Holding their books toward the nearer stars, To read, in secret, burning secrecies