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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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Hilda Doolittle
Doors
Cloth
Inspiration
Arrow
Religion
Arrows
Artist
Pattern
Mare
Art
Patterns
Stallion
Door
Mares
Worked
Stallions
Blue
Unbridled

More quotes by Hilda Doolittle

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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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I spit honey out of my mouth: nothing is second-best after the sweet of Eros.
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Dance until the earth dance.
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Luminous, unfearful high-priestesses, our fervour shall banish all evil.
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Long hours trail in their purple and long years are lost in just this moment while our souls are near, our mouths separate.
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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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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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Passionate grave thought, belief enhanced, ritual returned and magic.
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Light threatens, is active, is gone, so it is with a song.
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Not God with wine, nor death, nor hate for a cry, but God with a song
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The whole white world is ours.
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I could not accept from wisdom what love taught, woman is perfect.
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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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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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A slight wind shakes the seed-pods my thoughts are spent as the black seeds.
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!)
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I testify to rainbow feathers, to the span of heaven and walls of colour, the colonnades of jasper.
Hilda Doolittle
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For this beauty, beauty without strength, chokes out life.
Hilda Doolittle
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The heart the heart the heart how it thrives on hate.
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