Explore "The Bird with the Coppery, Keen Claws" by Wallace Stevens on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Above the forest of the parakeets, / A parakeet of parakeets prevails, / A pip of life amid a mort of tails.
(The rudiments of tropics are around, / Aloe of ivory, pear of rusty rind.) / His lids are white because his eyes are blind.
He is not paradise of parakeets, / Of his gold ether, golden alguazil. / Except because he broods there and is still,
Panache upon panache, his tails deploy / Upward and outward, in green-vented forms, / His tip a drop of water full of storms.
But though the turbulent tinges undulate / As his pure intellect applies its laws, / He moves not on his coppery, keen claws.
He munches a dry shell while he exerts / His will, yet never ceases, perfect cock, / To flare, in the sun-pallor of his rock.