Quote

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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Hilda Doolittle
Hands
Garments
Body
Crown
Soul
Crowns
Retrieve
Whole
Perseverance
Thorny
Love
Step
Clasped
Steps
Forfeit
Open
Garment
Spirit
Rebirth

More quotes by Hilda Doolittle

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We are voyagers, discoverers of the not-known, the unrecorded we have no map possibly we will reach haven, heaven.
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It is no madness to say you will fall, you great cities.
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For you are abstract, making no mistake, slurring no word in the rhythm you make, the poem, writ in the air.
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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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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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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.
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No poetic phantasy but a biological reality, a fact: I am an entity like bird, insect, plant or sea-plant cell I live I am alive.
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Sing and your hell is heaven, your heaven less hell.
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Light threatens, is active, is gone, so it is with a song.
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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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Love, why have you sought the horde of spearsmen, why the tent Achilles pitched beside the river-ford?
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There must be real gods see, the painted gods how fair!
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I could not accept from wisdom what love taught, woman is perfect.
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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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Lovers may come and go, there was the memory of blood, the low call.
Hilda Doolittle
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Not God with wine, nor death, nor hate for a cry, but God with a song
Hilda Doolittle
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Passionate grave thought, belief enhanced, ritual returned and magic.
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There's a black rose growing in your garden.
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