White, O white face— from disenchanted days wither alike dark rose and fiery bays: no gift within our hands,

Will you glimmer on the sea? Will you fling your spear—head On the shore? What note shall we pitch? We have a song,

Thou art come at length More beautiful Than any cool god In a chamber under Lycia’s far coast,

The light passes from ridge to ridge, from flower to flower— the hepaticas, wide—spread under the light

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

Can we believe—by an effort comfort our hearts: it is not waste all this, not placed here in disgust, street after street,

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…

Weed, moss—weed, root tangled in sand, sea—iris, brittle flower, one petal like a shell is broken,

Each of us like you has died once, has passed through drift of wood—l… cracked and bent and tortured and unbent

Where the slow river meets the tide, a red swan lifts red wings and darker beak, and underneath the purple down

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…