Silver dust lifted from the earth, higher than my arms reach, you have mounted. O silver,
I saw the first pear as it fell— the honey—seeking, golden—banded, the yellow swarm was not more fleet than I,
Will you glimmer on the sea? Will you fling your spear—head On the shore? What note shall we pitch? We have a song,
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
O wind, rend open the heat, cut apart the heat, rend it to tatters. Fruit cannot drop through this thick air—
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,
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…
Over and back, the long waves crawl and track the sand with foam; night darkens, and the sea takes on that desperate tone
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),
Each of us like you has died once, has passed through drift of wood—l… cracked and bent and tortured and unbent
Bear me to Dictaeus, and to the steep slopes; to the river Erymanthus. I choose spray of dittany, cyperum, frail of flower,
Wash of cold river in a glacial land, Ionian water, chill, snow—ribbed sand, drift of rare flowers,
I have had enough. I gasp for breath. Every way ends, every road, every foot-path leads at last to the hill-crest—
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,
Amber husk fluted with gold, fruit on the sand marked with a rich grain, treasure
Weed, moss—weed, root tangled in sand, sea—iris, brittle flower, one petal like a shell is broken,
Whirl up, sea— whirl your pointed pines, splash your great pines on our rocks, hurl your green over us,
Where the slow river meets the tide, a red swan lifts red wings and darker beak, and underneath the purple down
All Greece hates the still eyes in the white face, the lustre as of olives where she stands, and the white hands.
The light passes from ridge to ridge, from flower to flower— the hepaticas, wide—spread under the light
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;
Can we believe—by an effort comfort our hearts: it is not waste all this, not placed here in disgust, street after street,
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…
Rose, harsh rose, marred and with stint of petals, meagre flower, thin, sparse of leaf, more precious
Don’t ask me how badly your screwe… Ask me how do i do. Don’t ask me what u can do, Ask me what i wanna do. Don’t tell me things i should do,
I’m not a side dish, I’m not a left—over, you can’t put me away, you can’t save me for later, as with all things,
It feels much less like a kick in… but a slap in the face, I would say ‘fuck it’, but it wouldn’t adequately represe… that was lacked in,
77 And this I know: whether the one… Kindle to Love, or Wrath—consume… One Flash of It within the Taver… Better than in the Temple lost ou…
71 The Moving Finger writes, and, ha… Moves on; nor all your Piety nor… Shall lure it back to cancel half… Nor all your Tears wash out a Wor…
72 And that inverted Bowl they call… Whereunder crawling cooped we liv… Lift not your hands to It for hel… As impotently moves as you or I.