I had come to the house, in a cave of trees, <br />Facing a sheer sky. <br />Everything moved, -- a bell hung ready to strike, <br />Sun and reflection wheeled by. <br /> <br />When the bare eyes were before me <br />And the hissing hair, <br />Held up at a window, seen through a door. <br />The stiff bald eyes, the serpents on the forehead <br />Formed in the air. <br /> <br />This is a dead scene forever now. <br />Nothing will ever stir. <br />The end will never brighten it more than this, <br />Nor the rain blur. <br /> <br />The water will always fall, and will not fall, <br />And the tipped bell make no sound. <br />The grass will always be growing for hay <br />Deep on the ground. <br /> <br />And I shall stand here like a shadow <br />Under the great balanced day, <br />My eyes on the yellow dust, that was lifting in the wind, <br />And does not drift away.<br /><br />Louise Bogan<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/medusa-2/
