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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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Hilda Doolittle
Daughter
Thighs
Beauty
Maids
Eyes
Luminous
Eye
Marble
White
Mistress
Implacable
Goddess
Zeus
Grey
Maid
Honey
Chaste

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?
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I could not accept from wisdom what love taught, woman is perfect.
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Not God with wine, nor death, nor hate for a cry, but God with a song
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Passionate grave thought, belief enhanced, ritual returned and magic.
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I spit honey out of my mouth: nothing is second-best after the sweet of Eros.
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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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The whole white world is ours.
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Lovers may come and go, there was the memory of blood, the low call.
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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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A slight wind shakes the seed-pods my thoughts are spent as the black seeds.
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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 heart the heart the heart how it thrives on hate.
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The things I have are nameless, old and true they may not be named few may live and know.
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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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My eye-balls are glass, my limbs marble, my face fixed in its marble mask.
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Love is a garment riven in the light that rises from Parnassus, showing the night is over.
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Words were her plague and words were her redemption.
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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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Light threatens, is active, is gone, so it is with a song.
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.
Hilda Doolittle