#Americans #Imagist #Women #FreeVerse
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…
The white violet is scented on its stalk, the sea—violet fragile as agate, lies fronting all the wind
Rose, harsh rose, marred and with stint of petals, meagre flower, thin, sparse of leaf, more precious
Over and back, the long waves crawl and track the sand with foam; night darkens, and the sea takes on that desperate tone
Whirl up, sea— whirl your pointed pines, splash your great pines on our rocks, hurl your green over us,
Wash of cold river in a glacial land, Ionian water, chill, snow—ribbed sand, drift of rare flowers,
Can we believe—by an effort comfort our hearts: it is not waste all this, not placed here in disgust, street after street,
Where the slow river meets the tide, a red swan lifts red wings and darker beak, and underneath the purple down
Hymen, O Hymen king, what bitter thing is this? what shaft, tearing my heart? what scar, what light, what fire searing my eye—balls and my eyes w…
Are you alive? I touch you. You quiver like a sea—fish. I cover you with my net. What are you —banded one?
The light passes from ridge to ridge, from flower to flower— the hepaticas, wide—spread under the light
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…
Each of us like you has died once, has passed through drift of wood—l… cracked and bent and tortured and unbent
Will you glimmer on the sea? Will you fling your spear—head On the shore? What note shall we pitch? We have a song,
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,