#Americans #Imagist #Women #FreeVerse #Imagery
Where the slow river meets the tide, a red swan lifts red wings and darker beak, and underneath the purple down
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—
Are you alive? I touch you. You quiver like a sea—fish. I cover you with my net. What are you —banded one?
All Greece hates the still eyes in the white face, the lustre as of olives where she stands, and the white hands.
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
Silver dust lifted from the earth, higher than my arms reach, you have mounted. O silver,
The white violet is scented on its stalk, the sea—violet fragile as agate, lies fronting all the wind
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,
Can we believe—by an effort comfort our hearts: it is not waste all this, not placed here in disgust, street after street,
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
Weed, moss—weed, root tangled in sand, sea—iris, brittle flower, one petal like a shell is broken,
I have had enough. I gasp for breath. Every way ends, every road, every foot-path leads at last to the hill-crest—
The mysteries remain, I keep the same cycle of seed—time and of sun and rain; Demeter in the grass,
