1 min read
Слушать(AI)Man Alone
It is yourself you
In a long rage,
Scanning through light and
Mirrors, the page,
Where should reflected
Those eyes and that thick hair,
That passionate look, that laughter.
You should
Within the book, or doubled,
Freed, in the silvered glass;
Into all other
Yourself should pass.
The glass does not dissolve;
Like walls the mirrors stand;
The printed page gives
Words by another hand.
And your infatuate
Meets not itself below;
Strangers lie in your
As I lie now.
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
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,
Women
Women have no wilderness in them, They are provident instead, Content in the tight hot cell of their To eat dusty bread
Song For The Last Act
Now that I have your face by heart, I Less at its features than its darkening Where quince and melon, yellow as young flame,
Leave-Taking
I do not know where either of us can turn Just at first, waking from the sleep of each other I do not know how we can bear The river struck by the gold plummet of the moon, Or many trees shaken together in the darkness We shall wish...
