Hilda Doolittle

Where The Slow River  By Hilda Doolittle

Where The Slow River By Hilda Doolittle

Where the slow river meets the tide, a red swan lifts red wings and darker beak, and underneath the purple down of his soft breast uncurls his coral feet. Through the deep purple of the dying heat of sun and mist, the level ray of sun-beam has caressed the lily with dark breast, and flecked with ric... »

Each Of Us Like You By Hilda Doolittle

Each Of Us Like You By Hilda Doolittle

1. Each of us like you has died once, has passed through drift of wood-leaves, cracked and bent and tortured and unbent in the winter-frost, the burnt into gold points, lighted afresh, crisp amber, scales of gold-leaf, gold turned and re-welded in the sun; each of us like you has died once, each of ... »

Wash Of Cold River  By Hilda Doolittle

Wash Of Cold River By Hilda Doolittle

Wash of cold river in a glacial land, Ionian water, chill, snow-ribbed sand, drift of rare flowers, clear, with delicate shell- like leaf enclosing frozen lily-leaf, camellia texture, colder than a rose; wind-flower that keeps the breath of the north-wind — these and none other; intimate thoug... »

Can We Believe By Hilda Doolittle

Can We Believe By Hilda Doolittle

Can we believe — by an effort comfort our hearts: it is not waste all this, not placed here in disgust, street after street, each patterned alike, no grace to lighten a single house of the hundred crowded into one garden-space. Crowded — can we believe, not in utter disgust, in ironical ... »

Silver Dust  By Hilda Doolittle

Silver Dust By Hilda Doolittle

Silver dust lifted from the earth, higher than my arms reach, you have mounted. O silver, higher than my arms reach you front us with great mass; no flower ever opened so staunch a white leaf, no flower ever parted silver from such rare silver; O white pear, your flower-tufts, thick on the branch, b... »

Bear Me To Dictaeus By Hilda Doolittle

Bear Me To Dictaeus By Hilda Doolittle

Bear me to Dictaeus, and to the steep slopes; to the river Erymanthus. I choose spray of dittany, cyperum, frail of flower, buds of myrrh, all-healing herbs, close pressed in calathes. For she lies panting, drawing sharp breath, broken with harsh sobs. she, Hyella, whom no god pities. ~ Acon –... »

The Mysteries Remain By Hilda Doolittle

The Mysteries Remain By Hilda Doolittle

The mysteries remain, I keep the same cycle of seed-time and of sun and rain; Demeter in the grass, I multiply, renew and bless Bacchus in the vine; I hold the law, I keep the mysteries true, the first of these to name the living, dead; I am the wine and bread. I keep the law, I hold the mysteries t... »

Amber Husk  By Hilda Doolittle

Amber Husk By Hilda Doolittle

Amber husk fluted with gold, fruit on the sand marked with a rich grain, treasure spilled near the shrub-pines to bleach on the boulders: your stalk has caught root among wet pebbles and drift flung by the sea and grated shells and split conch-shells. Beautiful, wide-spread, fire upon leaf, what mea... »

Over And Back By Hilda Doolittle

Over And Back By Hilda Doolittle

Over and back, the long waves crawl and track the sand with foam; night darkens, and the sea takes on that desperate tone of dark that wives put on when all their love is done. Over and back, the tangled thread falls slack, over and up and on; over and all is sewn; now while I bind the end, I wish s... »

All Greece Hates By Hilda Doolittle

All Greece Hates By Hilda Doolittle

All Greece hates the still eyes in the white face, the lustre as of olives where she stands, and the white hands. All Greece reviles the wan face when she smiles, hating it deeper still when it grows wan and white, remembering past enchantments and past ills. Greece sees, unmoved, God’s daught... »

Rose, Harsh Rose By Hilda Doolittle

Rose, Harsh Rose By Hilda Doolittle

Rose, harsh rose, marred and with stint of petals, meagre flower, thin, sparse of leaf, more precious than a wet rose single on a stem — you are caught in the drift. Stunted, with small leaf, you are flung on the sand, you are lifted in the crisp sand that drives in the wind. Can the spice-ros... »

I Have Had Enough By Hilda Doolittle

I Have Had Enough By Hilda Doolittle

I have had enough. I gasp for breath. Every way ends, every road, every foot-path leads at last to the hill-crest — then you retrace your steps, or find the same slope on the other side, precipitate. I have had enough — border-pinks, clove-pinks, wax-lilies, herbs, sweet-cress. O for som... »

I First Tasted Under By Hilda Doolittle

I First Tasted Under By Hilda Doolittle

I first tasted under Apollo’s lips, love and love sweetness, I, Evadne; my hair is made of crisp violets or hyacinth which the wind combs back across some rock shelf; I, Evadne, was made of the god of light. His hair was crisp to my mouth, as the flower of the crocus, across my cheek, cool as ... »

I Should Have Thought By Hilda Doolittle

I Should Have Thought By Hilda Doolittle

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), “I send you this, who left the blue veins of your throat unkissed.” Why was it that your hands (that never took mine), your hands that I co... »

From Citron-Bower Be Her By Hilda Doolittle

From Citron-Bower Be Her By Hilda Doolittle

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, carve the feet from myrtle-wood. Let the palings of her bed be quince and box-wood overlaid with the scented bark of yew. That all the woo... »

O Hymen King By Hilda Doolittle

O Hymen King By Hilda Doolittle

O Hymen king. 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 with flame? nameless, O spoken name, king, lord, speak blameless Hymen. Why do you blind my eyes? why do you dart and pulse till all the dark ... »