#Americans #Imagist #Women
Weed, moss—weed, root tangled in sand, sea—iris, brittle flower, one petal like a shell is broken,
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,
White, O white face— from disenchanted days wither alike dark rose and fiery bays: no gift within our hands,
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
Can we believe—by an effort comfort our hearts: it is not waste all this, not placed here in disgust, street after street,
Silver dust lifted from the earth, higher than my arms reach, you have mounted. O silver,
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),
Wash of cold river in a glacial land, Ionian water, chill, snow—ribbed sand, drift of rare flowers,
Each of us like you has died once, has passed through drift of wood—l… cracked and bent and tortured and unbent
Over and back, the long waves crawl and track the sand with foam; night darkens, and the sea takes on that desperate tone
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…
Rose, harsh rose, marred and with stint of petals, meagre flower, thin, sparse of leaf, more precious
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…
The white violet is scented on its stalk, the sea—violet fragile as agate, lies fronting all the wind
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