#AmericanWriters #FreeVerse #Imagery Imagist
Can we believe—by an effort comfort our hearts: it is not waste all this, not placed here in disgust, street after street,
All Greece hates the still eyes in the white face, the lustre as of olives where she stands, and the white hands.
I have had enough. I gasp for breath. Every way ends, every road, every foot-path leads at last to the hill-crest—
Amber husk fluted with gold, fruit on the sand marked with a rich grain, treasure
Thou art come at length More beautiful Than any cool god In a chamber under Lycia’s far coast,
Over and back, the long waves crawl and track the sand with foam; night darkens, and the sea takes on that desperate tone
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,
Will you glimmer on the sea? Will you fling your spear—head On the shore? What note shall we pitch? We have a song,
You are clear O rose, cut in rock, hard as the descent of hail. I could scrape the colour from the petals
I saw the first pear as it fell— the honey—seeking, golden—banded, the yellow swarm was not more fleet than I,
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…
Where the slow river meets the tide, a red swan lifts red wings and darker beak, and underneath the purple down
From citron—bower be her bed, cut from branch of tree a—flower, fashioned for her maidenhead. From Lydian apples, sweet of hue, cut the width of board and lathe,
Are you alive? I touch you. You quiver like a sea—fish. I cover you with my net. What are you —banded one?
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…