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Louise Bogan - To A Dead Lover
Work rating: Low

The dark is thrown 
Back from the brightness, like hair 
Cast over a shoulder. 
I am alone, 

Four years older; 
Like the chairs and the walls 
Which I once watched brighten 
With you beside me. I was to waken 
Never like this, whatever came or was taken. 

The stalk grows, the year beats on the wind. 
Apples come, and the month for their fall. 
The bark spreads, the roots tighten. 
Though today be the last 
Or tomorrow all, 
You will not mind. 

That I may not remember 
Does not matter. 
I shall not be with you again. 
What we knew, even now 
Must scatter 
And be ruined, and blow 
Like dust in the rain. 

You have been dead a long season 
And have less than desire 
Who were lover with lover; 
And I have life—that old reason 
To wait for what comes, 
To leave what is over.
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