Poem by Wallace Stevens

The Florist Wears Knee-Breeches

My flowers are reflected
In your mind
As you are reflected in your glass.
When you look at them,
There is nothing in your mind
Except the reflections
Of my flowers.
But when I look at them
I see only the reflections
In your mind,
And not my flowers.
It is my desire
To bring roses,
And place them before you
In a white dish.

1. Earthy Anecdotes
2. To the Roaring Wind
3. The Idea of Order at Key West
4. Gray Room
5. Peter Quince at the Clavier

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