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Luminous, unfearful high-priestesses, our fervour shall banish all evil.

Hilda Doolittle

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Hilda Doolittle
Religion
Evil
Fervour
Priestesses
Banish
Luminous
Shall
High

More quotes by Hilda Doolittle

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Lovers may come and go, there was the memory of blood, the low call.
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It is no madness to say you will fall, you great cities.
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My eye-balls are glass, my limbs marble, my face fixed in its marble mask.
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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.
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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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The stallion and his mare, unbridled, with arrow-pattern, are worked on. the blue cloth before the door of religion and inspiration.
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Not God with wine, nor death, nor hate for a cry, but God with a song
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I could not accept from wisdom what love taught, woman is perfect.
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I testify to rainbow feathers, to the span of heaven and walls of colour, the colonnades of jasper.
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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.
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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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Could beauty be beaten out, O youth the cities have sent to strike at each other's strength, it is you who have kept her alight.
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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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There must be real gods see, the painted gods how fair!
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Sing and your hell is heaven, your heaven less hell.
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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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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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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 whole white world is ours.
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