#Americans #Imagist #Women
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
Silver dust lifted from the earth, higher than my arms reach, you have mounted. O silver,
Wash of cold river in a glacial land, Ionian water, chill, snow—ribbed sand, drift of rare flowers,
The light passes from ridge to ridge, from flower to flower— the hepaticas, wide—spread under the light
The white violet is scented on its stalk, the sea—violet fragile as agate, lies fronting all the wind
Thou art come at length More beautiful Than any cool god In a chamber under Lycia’s far coast,
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…
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,
All Greece hates the still eyes in the white face, the lustre as of olives where she stands, and the white hands.
Can we believe—by an effort comfort our hearts: it is not waste all this, not placed here in disgust, street after street,
Amber husk fluted with gold, fruit on the sand marked with a rich grain, treasure
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…
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;
