#Americans #Imagist #Women #FreeVerse
Whirl up, sea— whirl your pointed pines, splash your great pines on our rocks, hurl your green over us,
Silver dust lifted from the earth, higher than my arms reach, you have mounted. O silver,
The light passes from ridge to ridge, from flower to flower— the hepaticas, wide—spread under the light
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—
All Greece hates the still eyes in the white face, the lustre as of olives where she stands, and the white hands.
Where the slow river meets the tide, a red swan lifts red wings and darker beak, and underneath the purple down
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…
The white violet is scented on its stalk, the sea—violet fragile as agate, lies fronting all the wind
Crash on crash of the sea, straining to wreck men; sea—boards… raging against the world, furious, stay at last, for against your fur… and your mad fight,
Bear me to Dictaeus, and to the steep slopes; to the river Erymanthus. I choose spray of dittany, cyperum, frail of flower,
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
Each of us like you has died once, has passed through drift of wood—l… cracked and bent and tortured and unbent
I saw the first pear as it fell— the honey—seeking, golden—banded, the yellow swarm was not more fleet than I,