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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
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Years
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Time
Mouths
Trail
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Trails
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Purple
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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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War is a fevered god who takes alike maiden and king and clod.
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Ardent yet chill and formal, how I ache to tempt a chisel as a sculptor.
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Luminous, unfearful high-priestesses, our fervour shall banish all evil.
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Dance until the earth dance.
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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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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 spit honey out of my mouth: nothing is second-best after the sweet of Eros.
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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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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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When the shingles hissed in the rain incendiary, other values were revealed to us
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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 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 is a garment riven in the light that rises from Parnassus, showing the night is over.
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I fear no man, no woman flower does not fear bird, insect nor adder.
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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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For this beauty, beauty without strength, chokes out life.
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Passionate grave thought, belief enhanced, ritual returned and magic.
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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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