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Слушать(AI)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,
Again.
I am the chosen no hand saves:
The shrieking heaven lifted over men,
Not the dumb earth, wherein they set their graves.
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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Women have no wilderness in them, They are provident instead, Content in the tight hot cell of their To eat dusty bread
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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:
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The dark is thrown Back from the brightness, like hair Cast over a shoulder I am alone, Four years older; Like the chairs and the walls Which I once watched brighten With you beside me
Knowledge
Now that I How passion warms Of flesh in the mould, And treasure is brittle,—I'll lie here and