I should have thought in a dream you would have brought some lovely, perilous thing, orchids piled in a great sheath, as who would say (in a dream),

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,

YOU are as gold as the half—ripe grain that merges to gold again, as white as the white rain that beats through

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

Amber husk fluted with gold, fruit on the sand marked with a rich grain, treasure

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…

Over and back, the long waves crawl and track the sand with foam; night darkens, and the sea takes on that desperate tone

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

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

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

The mysteries remain, I keep the same cycle of seed—time and of sun and rain; Demeter in the grass,

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