#AmericanWriters
Weed, moss—weed, root tangled in sand, sea—iris, brittle flower, one petal like a shell is broken,
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,
Will you glimmer on the sea? Will you fling your spear—head On the shore? What note shall we pitch? We have a song,
Whirl up, sea— whirl your pointed pines, splash your great pines on our rocks, hurl your green over us,
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,
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
Wash of cold river in a glacial land, Ionian water, chill, snow—ribbed sand, drift of rare flowers,
Can we believe—by an effort comfort our hearts: it is not waste all this, not placed here in disgust, street after street,
Bear me to Dictaeus, and to the steep slopes; to the river Erymanthus. I choose spray of dittany, cyperum, frail of flower,
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,
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…
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;
Amber husk fluted with gold, fruit on the sand marked with a rich grain, treasure
O wind, rend open the heat, cut apart the heat, rend it to tatters. Fruit cannot drop through this thick air—