#AmericanWriters
Can we believe—by an effort comfort our hearts: it is not waste all this, not placed here in disgust, street after street,
Will you glimmer on the sea? Will you fling your spear—head On the shore? What note shall we pitch? We have a song,
Silver dust lifted from the earth, higher than my arms reach, you have mounted. O silver,
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…
Thou art come at length More beautiful Than any cool god In a chamber under Lycia’s far coast,
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…
O wind, rend open the heat, cut apart the heat, rend it to tatters. Fruit cannot drop through this thick air—
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
Whirl up, sea— whirl your pointed pines, splash your great pines on our rocks, hurl your green over us,
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
The white violet is scented on its stalk, the sea—violet fragile as agate, lies fronting all the wind
Amber husk fluted with gold, fruit on the sand marked with a rich grain, treasure
Bear me to Dictaeus, and to the steep slopes; to the river Erymanthus. I choose spray of dittany, cyperum, frail of flower,
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
