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. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE LAY OF THE LOVELORN; PARODY OF TENNYSON'S 'LOCKSLEY HALL' by THEODORE MARTIN ODES: BOOK 1: ODE 9. TO CURIO by MARK AKENSIDE ISN'T IT TRUE! by BERNICE GIBBS ANDERSON LINES ON THE COTTAGE AT THE FOOT OF BOX HILL, SURREY by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD THE ROWFANT CATALOGUE by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT LANDING AT DAWN by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE |