#Americans #Imagist #Women
Are you alive? I touch you. You quiver like a sea—fish. I cover you with my net. What are you —banded one?
I have had enough. I gasp for breath. Every way ends, every road, every foot-path leads at last to the hill-crest—
Where the slow river meets the tide, a red swan lifts red wings and darker beak, and underneath the purple down
Can we believe—by an effort comfort our hearts: it is not waste all this, not placed here in disgust, street after street,
Rose, harsh rose, marred and with stint of petals, meagre flower, thin, sparse of leaf, more precious
Weed, moss—weed, root tangled in sand, sea—iris, brittle flower, one petal like a shell is broken,
YOU are as gold as the half—ripe grain that merges to gold again, as white as the white rain that beats through
White, O white face— from disenchanted days wither alike dark rose and fiery bays: no gift within our hands,
Whirl up, sea— whirl your pointed pines, splash your great pines on our rocks, hurl your green over us,
I saw the first pear as it fell— the honey—seeking, golden—banded, the yellow swarm was not more fleet than I,
O be swift— we have always known you wanted us… We fled inland with our flocks. we pastured them in hollows, cut off from the wind
Stars wheel in purple, yours is no… as Hesperus, nor yet so great a st… as bright Aldeboran or Sirius, nor yet the stained and brilliant… stars turn in purple, glorious to…
Will you glimmer on the sea? Will you fling your spear—head On the shore? What note shall we pitch? We have a song,
I first tasted under Apollo’s lip… love and love sweetness, I, Evadne; my hair is made of crisp violets or hyacinth which the wind combs b…
Crash on crash of the sea, straining to wreck men; sea—boards… raging against the world, furious, stay at last, for against your fur… and your mad fight,