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Lovers may come and go, there was the memory of blood, the low call.

Hilda Doolittle

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Hilda Doolittle
May
Come
Lows
Lovers
Memory
Memories
Blood
Call

More quotes by Hilda Doolittle

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Passionate grave thought, belief enhanced, ritual returned and magic.
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Not God with wine, nor death, nor hate for a cry, but God with a song
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In my garden the winds have beaten the ripe lilies in my garden, the salt has wilted the first flakes of young narcissus.
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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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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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When the shingles hissed in the rain incendiary, other values were revealed to us
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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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Love, why have you sought the horde of spearsmen, why the tent Achilles pitched beside the river-ford?
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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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Dance until the earth dance.
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There's a black rose growing in your garden.
Hilda Doolittle
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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.
Hilda Doolittle
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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.
Hilda Doolittle
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Luminous, unfearful high-priestesses, our fervour shall banish all evil.
Hilda Doolittle
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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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Sing and your hell is heaven, your heaven less hell.
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I fear no man, no woman flower does not fear bird, insect nor adder.
Hilda Doolittle
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There is no man can take, there is no pool can slake, ultimately I am alone ultimately I am done.
Hilda Doolittle
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Lift up our eyes to you? no, God, we stare and stare, upon a nearer thing that greets us here, Death, violent and near.
Hilda Doolittle
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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.
Hilda Doolittle