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

Amber husk fluted with gold, fruit on the sand marked with a rich grain, treasure

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

Bear me to Dictaeus, and to the steep slopes; to the river Erymanthus. I choose spray of dittany, cyperum, frail of flower,

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…

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,

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

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…

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

Silver dust lifted from the earth, higher than my arms reach, you have mounted. O silver,