Thread #25115670
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>Deer walk upon our mountains, and the quail
>Whistle about us their spontaneous cries;
>Sweet berries ripen in the wilderness;
>And, in the isolation of the sky,
>At evening, casual flocks of pigeons make
>Ambiguous undulations as they sink,
>Downward to darkness, on extended wings.
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/13261/sunday-mor ning
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>>25115670
Wallace is a perfect example of the kind of writer who was the product of a kind of early secular, post-protestant, late WASP culture that was too urbane and intellectual for religion but still had a lingering reverence for it and a sense of loss at its absence, that has since gone completely extinct. No one today who thinks about these things would think about them in the same sort of passively disdainful yet wistful way.