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

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),

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

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…

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

The light passes from ridge to ridge, from flower to flower— the hepaticas, wide—spread under the light

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

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…

Weed, moss—weed, root tangled in sand, sea—iris, brittle flower, one petal like a shell is broken,

Where the slow river meets the tide, a red swan lifts red wings and darker beak, and underneath the purple down

I saw the first pear as it fell— the honey—seeking, golden—banded, the yellow swarm was not more fleet than I,