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Now that I
How passion warms
Of flesh in the mould,
And treasure is brittle,—I'll lie here and
How, over their
Trees make a long
And a light sound.
Louise Bogan
Louise Bogan (August 11, 1897 – February 4, 1970) was an American poet. She was appointed the fourth Poet Laureate to the Library of Congress in
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The Crossed Apple
I’ve come to give you fruit from out my orchard, Of wide report I have trees there that bear me many apples Of every sort:
Epitaph For A Romantic Woman
She has attained the permanence She dreamed of, where old stones lie sunning Untended stalks blow over her Even and swift, like young men running Always in the heart she loved Others had lived, — she heard their laughter She lies wh...
Man Alone
It is yourself you In a long rage, Scanning through light and Mirrors, the page,
The Frightened Man
In fear of the rich mouthI kissed the thin,—Even that was a To snare me in Even she, so The frail, the scentless,
