Louise Bogan

Untitled

Tender and insolent,
Beware. Within this lies,
When little more is spent,
The crowded tears of the eyes,
Naked astonishment.
 
The pillow torn with pain,
The dogging agony
That could not happen again,
Once more will thrash at thee
Sharper than winter rain.
 
Beware, beware, beware.
Give thyself wider room
Than these sweet eyes can share,
Than the most cruel bloom Of the false tall and fair.
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