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Dance until the earth dance.

Hilda Doolittle

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Hilda Doolittle
Dancing
Dance
Earth

More quotes by Hilda Doolittle

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There's a black rose growing in your garden.
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My eye-balls are glass, my limbs marble, my face fixed in its marble mask.
Hilda Doolittle
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Maid of the luminous grey-eyes, Mistress of honey and marble implacable white thighs and Goddess, chaste daughter of Zeus.
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(Those women whom the distaff no longer claims nor spun cloth) driven made, mad, mad by Bacchus.
Hilda Doolittle
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The heart the heart the heart how it thrives on hate.
Hilda Doolittle
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There must be real gods see, the painted gods how fair!
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Pompeii has nothing to teach us, we know crack of volcanic fissure, slow flow of terrible lava, pressure on heart, lungs, the brain about to burst its brittle case (what the skull can endure!)
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The fallen hazel-nuts, Stripped late of their green sheaths, The grapes, red-purple, Their berries Dripping with wine, Pomegranates already broken, And shrunken fig, And quinces untouched, I bring thee as offering.
Hilda Doolittle
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There is no man can take, there is no pool can slake, ultimately I am alone ultimately I am done.
Hilda Doolittle
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The elixir of life, the philosopher's stone is yours if you surrender sterile logic, trivial reason.
Hilda Doolittle
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I will be free, no lover's kiss to bind me to earth, no bliss of love to counteract actual bliss.
Hilda Doolittle
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You are wind in a stark tree, you are the stark tree unbent, you are a strung bow, you are an arrow.
Hilda Doolittle
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I testify to rainbow feathers, to the span of heaven and walls of colour, the colonnades of jasper.
Hilda Doolittle
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Love is a garment riven in the light that rises from Parnassus, showing the night is over.
Hilda Doolittle
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Long hours trail in their purple and long years are lost in just this moment while our souls are near, our mouths separate.
Hilda Doolittle
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The stallion and his mare, unbridled, with arrow-pattern, are worked on. the blue cloth before the door of religion and inspiration.
Hilda Doolittle
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War wreaked on you his hideous ravishment We, we alone, Nereids inviolate, Remain to weep, with the sea-birds to chant: Corinth is lost, Corinth is desolate.
Hilda Doolittle
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Lovers may come and go, there was the memory of blood, the low call.
Hilda Doolittle
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War is a fevered god who takes alike maiden and king and clod.
Hilda Doolittle
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Light threatens, is active, is gone, so it is with a song.
Hilda Doolittle