#AmericanWriters #FreeVerse #Imagery Imagist
Each of us like you has died once, has passed through drift of wood—l… cracked and bent and tortured and unbent
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—
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,
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,
Can we believe—by an effort comfort our hearts: it is not waste all this, not placed here in disgust, street after street,
Will you glimmer on the sea? Will you fling your spear—head On the shore? What note shall we pitch? We have a song,
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…
Bear me to Dictaeus, and to the steep slopes; to the river Erymanthus. I choose spray of dittany, cyperum, frail of flower,
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…
The mysteries remain, I keep the same cycle of seed—time and of sun and rain; Demeter in the grass,
The light passes from ridge to ridge, from flower to flower— the hepaticas, wide—spread under the light
I have had enough. I gasp for breath. Every way ends, every road, every foot-path leads at last to the hill-crest—
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),