Over and back, the long waves crawl and track the sand with foam; night darkens, and the sea takes on that desperate tone

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

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,

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

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…

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

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

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…

Can we believe—by an effort comfort our hearts: it is not waste all this, not placed here in disgust, street after street,

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

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

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;