A Po-em

I tried and tried to find a poem I'd tripped across earlier while leafing through The Norton Anthology of Modern Poetry, Second Edition; couldn't, of course. And it was substantially shorter.

But here, having seen many other people's meme-ish offerings, we are:

Medusa
By Louise Bogan (1897-1970)

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 be always 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.

It's quite perfect, isn't it? Amazes me anybody ever writes more than five stanzas.;)