#Americans #Imagist #Women
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…
You are clear O rose, cut in rock, hard as the descent of hail. I could scrape the colour from the petals
O wind, rend open the heat, cut apart the heat, rend it to tatters. Fruit cannot drop through this thick air—
The light passes from ridge to ridge, from flower to flower— the hepaticas, wide—spread under the light
Wash of cold river in a glacial land, Ionian water, chill, snow—ribbed sand, drift of rare flowers,
Bear me to Dictaeus, and to the steep slopes; to the river Erymanthus. I choose spray of dittany, cyperum, frail of flower,
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,
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…
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
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,
Amber husk fluted with gold, fruit on the sand marked with a rich grain, treasure
