from flower to flower—the hepaticas, wide-spreadunder the lightgrow faint—the petals reach inward,the blue tips bendtoward the bluer heartand the flowers are lost.The cornel-buds are still white,but shadows dartfrom the cornel-roots—black creeps from root to root,each leafcuts another leaf on the grass,shadow seeks shadow,then both leafand leaf-shadow are lost.
cycle of seed-timeand of sun and rain;Demeter in the grass,I multiply,renew and blessBacchus in the vine;I hold the law,I keep the mysteries true,the first of theseto name the living, dead;I am the wine and bread.I keep the law,I hold the mysteries true,I am the vine,the branches, youand you.
IAm I blind alas,am I blind,I too have followedher path.I too have bent at her feet.I too have wakened to pluckamaranth in the straight shaft,amaranth purple in the cup,scorched at the edge to white.Am I blind?am I the less ready for her sacrifice?am I less eager to givewhat she asks,she the shameless and radiant?Am I…
Ionian water,chill, snow-ribbed sand,drift of rare flowers,clear, with delicate shell-like leaf enclosingfrozen lily-leaf,camellia texture,colder than a rose;wind-flowerthat keeps the breathof the north-wind —these and none other;intimate thoughts and kindreach out to sharethe treasure of my mind,intimate hands and deardrawn garden-ward and sea-wardall the sheer rapturethat I would taketo mould a clearand frigid statue;rare, of pure…
meagre flower, thin,sparse of leaf,more preciousthan a wet rosesingle on a stem —you are caught in the drift.Stunted, with small leaf,you are flung on the sand,you are liftedin the crisp sandthat drives in the wind.Can the spice-rosedrip such acrid fragrancehardened in a leaf?
root tangled in sand,sea-iris, brittle flower,one petal like a shellis broken,and you print a shadowlike a thin twig.Fortunate one,scented and stinging,rigid myrrh-bud,camphor-flower,sweet and salt—you are windin our nostrils.IIDo the murex-fishersdrench you as they pass?Do your roots drag up colourfrom the sand?Have they slipped gold under you—rivets of gold?Band of iris-flowersabove the waves,you are painted blue,painted…
as bright Aldeboran or Sirius,nor yet the stained and brilliant one of War;stars turn in purple, glorious to the sight;yours is not gracious as the Pleiads arenor as Orion’s sapphires, luminous;yet disenchanted, cold, imperious face,when all the others blighted, reel and fall,your star, steel-set, keeps lone and frigid trystto freighted ships, baffled in wind and…
the lustre as of oliveswhere she stands,and the white hands.All Greece revilesthe wan face when she smiles,hating it deeper stillwhen it grows wan and white,remembering past enchantmentsand past ills.Greece sees, unmoved,God’s daughter, born of love,the beauty of cool feetand slenderest knees,could love indeed the maid,only if she were laid,white ash amid funereal cypresses.
O rose, cut in rock,hard as the descent of hail.I could scrape the colourfrom the petalslike spilt dye from a rock.If I could break youI could break a tree.If I could stirI could break a tree—I could break you.IIO wind, rend open the heat,cut apart the heat,rend it to tatters.Fruit cannot dropthrough this thick air—fruit…
what bitter thing is this?what shaft, tearing my heart?what scar, what light, what firesearing 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 pulsetill all the dark is home,then find my souland ruthless draw it back?scaling the scaleless,opening the dark?speak, nameless,…
