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Love is a garment riven in the light that rises from Parnassus, showing the night is over.

Hilda Doolittle

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Hilda Doolittle
Garments
Rises
Showing
Night
Light
Love
Parnassus
Riven
Garment

More quotes by Hilda Doolittle

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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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Love, why have you sought the horde of spearsmen, why the tent Achilles pitched beside the river-ford?
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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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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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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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The whole white world is ours.
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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.
Hilda Doolittle
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It is no madness to say you will fall, you great cities.
Hilda Doolittle
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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.
Hilda Doolittle
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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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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!
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.
Hilda Doolittle
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There is no man can take, there is no pool can slake, ultimately I am alone ultimately I am done.
Hilda Doolittle
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Sing and your hell is heaven, your heaven less hell.
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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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For this beauty, beauty without strength, chokes out life.
Hilda Doolittle
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My eye-balls are glass, my limbs marble, my face fixed in its marble mask.
Hilda Doolittle
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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.
Hilda Doolittle
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The heart the heart the heart how it thrives on hate.
Hilda Doolittle