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Thirteen Ways of Looking at Wilson I.Among twenty snowy labcoatsThe only moving thingsAre Wilson's eyes.II.I was of three mindsLike a hospital directoryIn which there are three Wilsons.III.Wilson whirls in the autumn winds.He is a small part of the pantomime.IV.House and WilsonAre one.House and Cuddy and WilsonAre one.V.I do not know which to prefer,The beauty of prescriptionsOr the beauty of forgeries,Wilson whistlingOr just after.VI.Icicles filled the long windowOf House's apartment.The shadow of WilsonCrossed it, to and fro.The moodTraced in the shadowAn indecipherable cause.VII.O doctors of Princeton-Plainsboro,Why do you imagine golden cures?Do you not see how WilsonGlides around the feetOf the fellows about you?VIII.I know noble intentsAnd lucid, inescapable lies;But I know, too,That Wilson is involvedIn what I know.IX.When Wilson strode out of sight,It marked the edgeOf one of many circles.X.At the sight of WilsonSitting at a green light,Even the sisters of HadassahWould cry out sharply.XI.House rode over New JerseyIn a red Corvette.Once, a fear pierced him,In that he mistookThe shadow of his caneFor Wilson.XII.The river is moving.Wilson must be sailing.XIII.It was evening all afternoon.It was snowingAnd it was going to snow.Wilson satOn the worn leather couch.