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

NOR skin nor hide nor fleece Shall cover you, Nor curtain of crimson nor fine Shelter of cedar—wood be over you, Nor the fir—tree

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…

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

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

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

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

So you have swept me back, I who could have walked with the l… above the earth, I who could have slept among the l… at last;

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