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A Tale

This youth too long has heard the break

Of waters in a land of change.

He goes to see what suns can make

From soil more indurate and strange.

He cuts what holds his days together

And shuts him in, as lock on lock:

The arrowed vane announcing weather,

The tripping racket of a clock;

by Louise Bogan

Solitary Observation Brought Back From A Sojourn In Hell

At midnight tears

Run in your ears.

by Louise Bogan

Epitaph For A Romantic Woman

She has attained the permanence

She dreamed of, where old stones lie sunning.

Untended stalks blow over her

Even and swift, like young men running.

Always in the heart she loved

Others had lived, — she heard their laughter.

She lies where none has lain before,

Where certainly none will follow after.

by Louise Bogan

Chanson Un Peu Naïve

What body can be ploughed,

Sown, and broken yearly?

But she would not die, she vowed,

But she has, nearly.

Sing, heart sing;

Call and carol clearly.

And, since she could not die,

Care would be a feather,

by Louise Bogan

Medusa

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

by Louise Bogan

Tears In Sleep

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 undoing.

I would not wake at your word, I had tears to say.

I clung to the bars of the dream and they were said,

And pain's derisive hand had given me rest

by Louise Bogan

Sonnet

Since you would claim the sources of my thought

Recall the meshes whence it sprang unlimed,

The reedy traps which other hands have times

To close upon it. Conjure up the hot

Blaze that it cleared so cleanly, or the snow

Devised to strike it down. It will be free.

Whatever nets draw in to prison me

At length your eyes must turn to watch it go.

by Louise Bogan

Knowledge

Now that I know

How passion warms little

Of flesh in the mould,

And treasure is brittle,—

I'll lie here and learn

How, over their ground

Trees make a long shadow

And a light sound.

by Louise Bogan

The Crossed Apple

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:

Clear, streaked; red and russet; green and golden;

Sour and sweet.

This apple’s from a tree yet unbeholden,

Where two kinds meet, -

by Louise Bogan

The Dream

O God, in the dream the terrible horse began

To paw at the air, and make for me with his blows,

Fear kept for thirty-five years poured through his mane,

And retribution equally old, or nearly, breathed through his nose.

Coward complete, I lay and wept on the ground

When some strong creature appeared, and leapt for the rein.

Another woman, as I lay half in a swound

Leapt in the air, and clutched at the leather and chain.

by Louise Bogan

Roman Fountain

Up from the bronze, I saw

Water without a flaw

Rush to its rest in air,

Reach to its rest, and fall.

Bronze of the blackest shade,

An element man-made,

Shaping upright the bare

Clear gouts of water in air.

by Louise Bogan

Song For The Last Act

Now that I have your face by heart, I look

Less at its features than its darkening frame

Where quince and melon, yellow as young flame,

Lie with quilled dahlias and the shepherd's crook.

Beyond, a garden, There, in insolent ease

The lead and marble figures watch the show

Of yet another summer loath to go

Although the scythes hang in the apple trees.

by Louise Bogan