Domination of Black / Wallace Stevens

At night, by the fire, 
The colors of the bushes 
And of the fallen leaves, 
Repeating themselves, 
Turned in the room, 
Like the leaves themselves 
Turning in the wind. 
Yes: but the color of the heavy hemlocks 
Came striding. 
And I remembered the cry of the peacocks. 

The colors of their tails 
Were like the leaves themselves 
Turning in the wind, 
In the twilight wind. 
They swept over the room, 
Just as they flew from the boughs of the hemlocks 
Down to the ground. 
I heard them cry -- the peacocks. 
Was it a cry against the twilight 
Or against the leaves themselves 
Turning in the wind, 
Turning as the flames 
Turned in the fire, 
Turning as the tails of the peacocks 
Turned in the loud fire, 
Loud as the hemlocks 
Full of the cry of the peacocks? 
Or was it a cry against the hemlocks? 

Out of the window, 
I saw how the planets gathered 
Like the leaves themselves 
Turning in the wind. 
I saw how the night came, 
Came striding like the color of the heavy hemlocks 
I felt afraid. 
And I remembered the cry of the peacocks.