1 min read
Слушать(AI)Statue And Birds
Here, in the withered arbor, like the arrested wind,
Straight sides, carven knees,
Stands the statue, with hands flung out in alarm Or remonstrances.
Over the lintel sway the woven bracts of the vine In a pattern of angles.
The quill of the fountain falters, woods rake on the sky Their brusque tangles.
The birds walk by slowly, circling the marble girl,
The golden quails,
The pheasants, closed up in their arrowy wings,
Dragging their sharp tails.
The inquietudes of the sap and of the blood are spent.
What is forsaken will rest.
But her heel is lifted,—she would flee,—the whistle of the birds Fails on her breast.
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
Comments
You need to be signed in to write comments
Other author posts
Cassandra
To me, one silly task is like another I bare the shambling tricks of lust and pride This flesh will never give a child its mother,— Song, like a wing, tears through my breast, my side, And madness chooses out my voice again,
The Alchemist
I burned my life, that I might findA passion wholly of the mind, Thought divorced from eye and bone, Ecstasy come to breath alone I broke my life, to seek
Portrait
She has no need to fear the fall Of harvest from the laddered reach Of orchards, nor the tide gone ebbing From the steep beach Nor hold to pain's effrontery Her body's bulwark, stern and savage, Nor be a glass, where to forsee Another's ravag...
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: