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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
Blood
Call
May
Come
Lows
Lovers
Memory
Memories

More quotes by Hilda Doolittle

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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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Words were her plague and words were her redemption.
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I could not accept from wisdom what love taught, woman is perfect.
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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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The things I have are nameless, old and true they may not be named few may live and know.
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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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Dance until the earth dance.
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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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Love is a garment riven in the light that rises from Parnassus, showing the night is over.
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Sing and your hell is heaven, your heaven less hell.
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(Those women whom the distaff no longer claims nor spun cloth) driven made, mad, mad by Bacchus.
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My eye-balls are glass, my limbs marble, my face fixed in its marble mask.
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It is no madness to say you will fall, you great cities.
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There's a black rose growing in your garden.
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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.
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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.
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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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Light threatens, is active, is gone, so it is with a song.
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I spit honey out of my mouth: nothing is second-best after the sweet of Eros.
Hilda Doolittle