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- 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.
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