#AmericanWriters
The mysteries remain, I keep the same cycle of seed—time and of sun and rain; Demeter in the grass,
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…
Whirl up, sea— whirl your pointed pines, splash your great pines on our rocks, hurl your green over us,
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
I saw the first pear as it fell— the honey—seeking, golden—banded, the yellow swarm was not more fleet than I,
You are clear O rose, cut in rock, hard as the descent of hail. I could scrape the colour from the petals
Over and back, the long waves crawl and track the sand with foam; night darkens, and the sea takes on that desperate tone
Bear me to Dictaeus, and to the steep slopes; to the river Erymanthus. I choose spray of dittany, cyperum, frail of flower,
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),
Are you alive? I touch you. You quiver like a sea—fish. I cover you with my net. What are you —banded one?
The white violet is scented on its stalk, the sea—violet fragile as agate, lies fronting all the wind
The light passes from ridge to ridge, from flower to flower— the hepaticas, wide—spread under the light
Silver dust lifted from the earth, higher than my arms reach, you have mounted. O silver,
Where the slow river meets the tide, a red swan lifts red wings and darker beak, and underneath the purple down
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,