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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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Hilda Doolittle
Love
Actual
Kiss
Solitude
Kissing
Lovers
Counteract
Freedom
Bind
Free
Lover
Earth
Bliss

More quotes by Hilda Doolittle

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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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Light threatens, is active, is gone, so it is with a song.
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There must be real gods see, the painted gods how fair!
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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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Luminous, unfearful high-priestesses, our fervour shall banish all evil.
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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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Ardent yet chill and formal, how I ache to tempt a chisel as a sculptor.
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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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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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The heart the heart the heart how it thrives on hate.
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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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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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A slight wind shakes the seed-pods my thoughts are spent as the black seeds.
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The whole white world is ours.
Hilda Doolittle
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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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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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I fear no man, no woman flower does not fear bird, insect nor adder.
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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.
Hilda Doolittle
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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.
Hilda Doolittle
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War wreaked on you his hideous ravishment We, we alone, Nereids inviolate, Remain to weep, with the sea-birds to chant: Corinth is lost, Corinth is desolate.
Hilda Doolittle