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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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Hilda Doolittle
Soul
Separate
Long
Near
Years
Souls
Time
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Trail
Hours
Trails
Moment
Purple
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Separation
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I spit honey out of my mouth: nothing is second-best after the sweet of Eros.
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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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The heart the heart the heart how it thrives on hate.
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When the shingles hissed in the rain incendiary, other values were revealed to us
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For this beauty, beauty without strength, chokes out life.
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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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Light threatens, is active, is gone, so it is with a song.
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Ardent yet chill and formal, how I ache to tempt a chisel as a sculptor.
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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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There's a black rose growing in your garden.
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She did not look at the daffodils. They didn't mean anything. She looked at the daffodils. She said, 'Thank you for the daffodils.
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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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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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The elixir of life, the philosopher's stone is yours if you surrender sterile logic, trivial reason.
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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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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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It is no madness to say you will fall, you great cities.
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My eye-balls are glass, my limbs marble, my face fixed in its marble mask.
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War is a fevered god who takes alike maiden and king and clod.
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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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