Huge are the canna in the dreams of
X, the mighty thought, the mighty man.
They fill the terrace of his capitol.
His thought sleeps not. Yet thought that wakes
In sleep may never meet another thought
Or thing… Now day-break comes…
X promenades the dewy stones,
Observes the canna with a clinging eye,
Observes and then continues to observe.
by Wallace Stevens
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