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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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Hilda Doolittle
Fight
Dead
Race
Fighting
Tell
May
Entrusted
Life
Swift
Likely

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Luminous, unfearful high-priestesses, our fervour shall banish all evil.
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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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Dance until the earth dance.
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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.
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There is no man can take, there is no pool can slake, ultimately I am alone ultimately I am done.
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When the shingles hissed in the rain incendiary, other values were revealed to us
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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.
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For this beauty, beauty without strength, chokes out life.
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A slight wind shakes the seed-pods my thoughts are spent as the black seeds.
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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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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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Love is a garment riven in the light that rises from Parnassus, showing the night is over.
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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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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.
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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 whole white world is ours.
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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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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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Lovers may come and go, there was the memory of blood, the low call.
Hilda Doolittle