the trade-wind jingles the rings in the nets around the racks
by the docks on Indian River.
it is the same jingle of the water among the roots under the
banks of the palmettoes,
it is the same jingle of the red-bird breasting the orange-
trees out of the cedars.
yet there is no spring in Florida, neither in boskage perdu,
nor on the nunnery beaches.
(from Stevens, Collected Poetry & Prose, p. 93)
* * * * *
Another example of Stevens' 'Floridaphilia.' How he loves it! I can relate to his sense that there is some sort of subtle 'jingling' sound one can 'pick up' when one is in a very magical place in nature where there's a lot of life going on. Even in the desert, where there isn't exactly a 'jingle,' there is some sort of ethereal sound you can detect when you tune in to all the life that is happening there. But in a place like Florida, that is so wet, it must be very very musical.