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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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Hilda Doolittle
Heaven
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More quotes by Hilda Doolittle

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Love, why have you sought the horde of spearsmen, why the tent Achilles pitched beside the river-ford?
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.
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A slight wind shakes the seed-pods my thoughts are spent as the black seeds.
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My eye-balls are glass, my limbs marble, my face fixed in its marble mask.
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War is a fevered god who takes alike maiden and king and clod.
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I spit honey out of my mouth: nothing is second-best after the sweet of Eros.
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Dance until the earth dance.
Hilda Doolittle
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Take what the old-church found in Mithra's tomb, candle and script and bell, take what the new-church spat upon and broke and shattered.
Hilda Doolittle
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Passionate grave thought, belief enhanced, ritual returned and magic.
Hilda Doolittle
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Light threatens, is active, is gone, so it is with a song.
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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Love has no charm when Love is swept to earth: you'd make a lop-winged god, frozen and contrite, of god up-darting, winged for passionate flight.
Hilda Doolittle
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It is no madness to say you will fall, you great cities.
Hilda Doolittle
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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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Lift up our eyes to you? no, God, we stare and stare, upon a nearer thing that greets us here, Death, violent and near.
Hilda Doolittle
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Until it seems the whole city will be covered with gold pollen shaken from the bell-towers, lilies plundered with the weight of massive bees . . .
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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Maid of the luminous grey-eyes, Mistress of honey and marble implacable white thighs and Goddess, chaste daughter of Zeus.
Hilda Doolittle
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Words were her plague and words were her redemption.
Hilda Doolittle
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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