#Americans #Imagist #Women
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 mysteries remain, I keep the same cycle of seed—time and of sun and rain; Demeter in the grass,
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…
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;
Amber husk fluted with gold, fruit on the sand marked with a rich grain, treasure
Wash of cold river in a glacial land, Ionian water, chill, snow—ribbed sand, drift of rare flowers,
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,
I saw the first pear as it fell— the honey—seeking, golden—banded, the yellow swarm was not more fleet than I,
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
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
The white violet is scented on its stalk, the sea—violet fragile as agate, lies fronting all the wind
White, O white face— from disenchanted days wither alike dark rose and fiery bays: no gift within our hands,
I have had enough. I gasp for breath. Every way ends, every road, every foot-path leads at last to the hill-crest—
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
