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,

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;

Each of us like you has died once, has passed through drift of wood—l… cracked and bent and tortured and unbent

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…

White, O white face— from disenchanted days wither alike dark rose and fiery bays: no gift within our hands,

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

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

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

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

Are you alive? I touch you. You quiver like a sea—fish. I cover you with my net. What are you —banded one?

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

I saw the first pear as it fell— the honey—seeking, golden—banded, the yellow swarm was not more fleet than I,

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),