DOMINATION OF BLACK
            Wallace Stevens
                p. 1923
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  At night, by the fire,
  The colors of the bushes
  And of the fallen leaves,
  Repeating themselves,
  Turned in the room,
  Like the leaves themselves
  Turning in the wind.
  Yes: but the color of the heavy hemlocks
  Came striding.
  And I remembered the cry of the peacocks.
  
  The colors of their tails
  Were like the leaves themselves
  Turning in the wind,
  In the twilight wind.
  They swept over the room,
  Just as they flew from the boughs of the hemlocks
  Down to the ground.
  I heard them cry--the peacocks.
  Was it a cry against the twilight
  or against the leaves themselves
  Turning in the wind,
  Turning as the flames
  Turned in the fire,
  Turning as the tails of the peacocks
  Turned in the loud fire,
  Loud as the hemlocks
  Full of the cry of the peacocks?
  Or was it a cry against the hemlocks?
  
  Out of the window,
  I saw how the planets gathered
  Like the leaves themselves
  Turning in the wind.
  I saw how the night came,
  Came striding like the color of the heavy hemlocks
  I felt afraid.
  And I remembered the cry of the peacocks.


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