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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
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Dance until the earth dance.
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There's a black rose growing in your garden.
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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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Light threatens, is active, is gone, so it is with a song.
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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.
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The heart the heart the heart how it thrives on hate.
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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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Could beauty be beaten out, O youth the cities have sent to strike at each other's strength, it is you who have kept her alight.
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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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Words were her plague and words were her redemption.
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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.
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War is a fevered god who takes alike maiden and king and clod.
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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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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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Love is a garment riven in the light that rises from Parnassus, showing the night is over.
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Passionate grave thought, belief enhanced, ritual returned and magic.
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The things I have are nameless, old and true they may not be named few may live and know.
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Ardent yet chill and formal, how I ache to tempt a chisel as a sculptor.
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When the shingles hissed in the rain incendiary, other values were revealed to us
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The whole white world is ours.
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