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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.

Hilda Doolittle

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Hilda Doolittle
Sent
Strikes
Kept
Youth
Strength
Alight
Cities
Idealism
Beauty
Strike
Beaten

More quotes by 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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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?
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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My eye-balls are glass, my limbs marble, my face fixed in its marble mask.
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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For this beauty, beauty without strength, chokes out life.
Hilda Doolittle
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There must be real gods see, the painted gods how fair!
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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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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Words were her plague and words were her redemption.
Hilda Doolittle
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Ardent yet chill and formal, how I ache to tempt a chisel as a sculptor.
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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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
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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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Love is a garment riven in the light that rises from Parnassus, showing the night is over.
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
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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!)
Hilda Doolittle
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There's a black rose growing in your garden.
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