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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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We are voyagers, discoverers of the not-known, the unrecorded we have no map possibly we will reach haven, heaven.
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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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Dance until the earth dance.
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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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Light threatens, is active, is gone, so it is with a song.
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Luminous, unfearful high-priestesses, our fervour shall banish all evil.
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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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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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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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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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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.
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I could not accept from wisdom what love taught, woman is perfect.
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Ardent yet chill and formal, how I ache to tempt a chisel as a sculptor.
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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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There must be real gods see, the painted gods how fair!
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Cheat me not with time, with the dull ache of flesh, for all flesh turns, even the loveliest ankle and frail thigh, to bitterest dust.
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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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