I had come to the house, in a cave of trees, Facing a sheer sky. Everything moved, — a bell hung ready to strike, Sun and reflection wheeled by. When the bare eyes were before me And the hissing hair, Held up at a window, seen through a door. The stiff bald eyes, the serpents on the forehead Formed in the air. This is a dead scene forever now. Nothing will ever stir. The end will never brighten it more than this, Nor the rain blur. The water will always fall, and will not fall, And the tipped bell make no sound. The grass will always be growing for hay Deep on the ground. And I shall stand here like a shadow Under the great balanced day, My eyes on the yellow dust, that was lifting in the wind, And does not drift away.
2 min read
СлушатьMedusa
0
0
70
Give Award
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…
Other author posts
Solitary Observation Brought Back From A Sojourn In Hell
At minight Run in yur ars …
The Alchemist
I burn my lif, that I might finA passin whlly f th min, Thught ivr frm y an bn, Estasy m t brath aln I brk my lif, t sk…
Song For The Last Act
Nw that I hav yur fa by hart, I Lss at its faturs than its arkning Whr quin an mln, yllw as yung flam,…
Zone
W hav struk th rgins whrin w ar kl r rf Th win braks vr us, An against high sharp angls almst splits int wrs, An ths ar f far r grif…
Comments
You need to be signed in to write comments