The Reader by Wallace Stevens Tapestry

The Reader All night I sat reading a book, Sat reading as if in a book Of somber pages. It was autumn and falling stars Covered the shrivelled forms Crouched in the moonlight. No lamp was burning as I read, A voice was mumbling, "Everything Falls back to coldness, Even the musky muscadines, The melons, the vermilion pears Of the leafless garden." The somber pages bore no print Except the trace of burning stars In the frosty heaven. Wallace Stevens