Less and Less Human, O Savage Spirit
By Wallace Stevens
Saying things in the rooms and on the stair,
Or moonlight, silently, as Plato’s ghost
His stars on the wall. He must dwell quietly.
As those are: as light, for all its motion, is;
As shapes, though they portend us, are.
The human that has no cousin in the moon.
From beasts or from the incommunicable mass.
That will not hear us when we speak: a coolness,
Of which we are too distantly a part.