Quote

I myself have seen the floating ships And nothing will ever be the same The shouts, The harrowing voices within the house. I stand apart with an army: My mind is graven with ships.

Hilda Doolittle

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Hilda Doolittle
Seen
Harrowing
Within
Shouts
Voice
Floating
War
Voices
House
Ships
Apart
Ever
Army
Nothing
Stand
Graven
Mind

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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.
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The elixir of life, the philosopher's stone is yours if you surrender sterile logic, trivial reason.
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I fear no man, no woman flower does not fear bird, insect nor adder.
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A slight wind shakes the seed-pods my thoughts are spent as the black seeds.
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The heart the heart the heart how it thrives on hate.
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Lovers may come and go, there was the memory of blood, the low call.
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Dance until the earth dance.
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Not God with wine, nor death, nor hate for a cry, but God with a song
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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.
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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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When the shingles hissed in the rain incendiary, other values were revealed to us
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Cheat me not with time, with the dull ache of flesh, for all flesh turns, even the loveliest ankle and frail thigh, to bitterest dust.
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The race may or may not be to the swift, but tell me, is it likely that the fight will be entrusted to the dead?
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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.
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There's a black rose growing in your garden.
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Words were her plague and words were her redemption.
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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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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 . . .
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Let Love step down, open the clasped hands, forfeit the thorny crown, retrieve the garment that was whole, body and spirit one, spirit and soul.
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I spit honey out of my mouth: nothing is second-best after the sweet of Eros.
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