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More poems by Louise BoganLouise Bogan | Print this page.Print | View and Write CommentsComments (2) | Books by Louise BoganBooks by Louise Bogan

Medusa

Louise Bogan

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. 

Added: 25 Feb 2002 | Last Read: 22 Jan 2018 11:01 PM | Viewed: 8946 times

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URL: http://plagiarist.com/poetry/2695/ | Viewed on 22 January 2018.
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