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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.

Hilda Doolittle

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Hilda Doolittle
Firsts
Ripe
First
Winds
Beaten
Salt
Garden
Wilted
Loss
Narcissus
Wind
Flakes
Young
Lilies

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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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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 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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Luminous, unfearful high-priestesses, our fervour shall banish all evil.
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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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For this beauty, beauty without strength, chokes out life.
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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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Lovers may come and go, there was the memory of blood, the low call.
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My eye-balls are glass, my limbs marble, my face fixed in its marble mask.
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But beauty is set apart, beauty is cast by the sea, a barren rock, beauty is set about with wrecks of ships.
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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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I will be free, no lover's kiss to bind me to earth, no bliss of love to counteract actual bliss.
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A slight wind shakes the seed-pods my thoughts are spent as the black seeds.
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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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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 elixir of life, the philosopher's stone is yours if you surrender sterile logic, trivial reason.
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Ardent yet chill and formal, how I ache to tempt a chisel as a sculptor.
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The heart the heart the heart how it thrives on hate.
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It is no madness to say you will fall, you great cities.
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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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