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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
Kept
Youth
Strength
Alight
Cities
Idealism
Beauty
Strike
Beaten
Sent
Strikes

More quotes by Hilda Doolittle

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I fear no man, no woman flower does not fear bird, insect nor adder.
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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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In my garden the winds have beaten the ripe lilies in my garden, the salt has wilted the first flakes of young narcissus.
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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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The elixir of life, the philosopher's stone is yours if you surrender sterile logic, trivial reason.
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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.
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A slight wind shakes the seed-pods my thoughts are spent as the black seeds.
Hilda Doolittle
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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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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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For you are abstract, making no mistake, slurring no word in the rhythm you make, the poem, writ in the air.
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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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(Those women whom the distaff no longer claims nor spun cloth) driven made, mad, mad by Bacchus.
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No poetic phantasy but a biological reality, a fact: I am an entity like bird, insect, plant or sea-plant cell I live I am alive.
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Sing and your hell is heaven, your heaven less hell.
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Passionate grave thought, belief enhanced, ritual returned and magic.
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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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She did not look at the daffodils. They didn't mean anything. She looked at the daffodils. She said, 'Thank you for the daffodils.
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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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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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There must be real gods see, the painted gods how fair!
Hilda Doolittle