Explore "From the Misery of Don Joost" by Wallace Stevens on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
I have finished my combat with the sun; / And my body, the old animal, / Knows nothing more.
The powerful seasons bred and killed, / And were themselves the genii / Of their own ends.
Oh, but the very self of the storm / Of sun and slaves, breeding and death, / The old animal,
The senses and feeling, the very sound / And sight, and all there was of the storm, / Knows nothing more.