The Revolutionists Stop for Orangeade by Wallace Stevens

The Revolutionists Stop for Orangeade

 

Capitán profundo, capitán geloso,

Ask us not to sing standing in the sun,

Hairy-backed and hump-armed,

Flat-ribbed and big-bagged.

 

There is no pith in music

Except in something false.

 

Bellissimo, pomposo,

Sing a song of serpent-kin,

Necks among the thousand leaves,

Tongues around the fruit.

Sing in clownish boots

Strapped and buckled bright.

 

Wear the breeches of a mask,

Coat half-flare and half galloon;

Wear a helmet without reason,

Tufted, tilted, twirled, and twisted.

Start the singing in a voice

Rougher than a grinding shale.

 

Hang a feather by your eye,

Nod and look a little sly.

This must be the vent of pity,

Deeper than a truer ditty

Of the real that wrenches,

Of the quick that’s wry.