Louise Bogan

We have struck the regions wherein we are keel or reef
The wind breaks over us,
And against high sharp angles almost splits into words,
And these are of fear or grief

Nothing was remembered, nothing forgotten
When we awoke, wagons were passing on the warm summer pavements,
The window-sills were wet from rain in the night,
Birds scattered and settled over

Up from the bronze,
I
Water without a
Rush to its rest in air,

Now that I
How passion warms
Of flesh in the mould,
And treasure is brittle,—I'll lie here and

Come, let us tell the weeds in
How we are poor, who once had riches,
And lie out in the sparse and
Pastures that the cows have trodden,

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...

All night the cocks crew, under a moon like day,
And I, in the cage of sleep, on a stranger's breast,
Shed tears, like a task not to be put away—-In the false light, false grief in my happy bed,
A labor of tears, set against joy's u...