The House was Quiet and the World was Calm

The house was quiet and the world was calm.
The reader became the book; and summer night
Was like the conscious being of the book.
The house was quiet and the world was calm.
The words were spoken as if there was no book,
Except that the reader leaned above the page,
Wanted to lean, wanted much most to be
The scholar to whom his book is true, to whom
The summer night is like a perfection of thought.
The house was quiet because it had to be.
The quiet was part of the meaning, part of the mind:
The access of perfection to the page.
And the world was calm. The truth in a calm world,
In which there is no other meaning, itself
Is calm, itself is summer and night, itself
Is the reader leaning late and reading there.
— Wallace Stevens

I welcome insomnia. I love being awake at 4 a.m. to hear the great-horned owl in the tree behind our house. I love watching the inky dark outside give way to foggy gray. I love hearing the newspaper land at the foot of our steps when the delivery man goes by. I love seeing lights blink on in windows down the hill and across the valley.  But most of all, I love to read at night when everyone else is asleep.


  1. What a beautiful poem...and lovely thought! ♥

  2. I seem to be a nocturnal person too, which hardly fits with being so thoroughly sleep deprived, yet I love the night and the sounds of the night and the rain on the roof at night. It's such a special time.


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