#AmericanWriters
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 light passes from ridge to ridge, from flower to flower— the hepaticas, wide—spread under the light
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,
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
Silver dust lifted from the earth, higher than my arms reach, you have mounted. O silver,
Will you glimmer on the sea? Will you fling your spear—head On the shore? What note shall we pitch? We have a song,
Whirl up, sea— whirl your pointed pines, splash your great pines on our rocks, hurl your green over us,
All Greece hates the still eyes in the white face, the lustre as of olives where she stands, and the white hands.
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…
Over and back, the long waves crawl and track the sand with foam; night darkens, and the sea takes on that desperate tone
White, O white face— from disenchanted days wither alike dark rose and fiery bays: no gift within our hands,
I have had enough. I gasp for breath. Every way ends, every road, every foot-path leads at last to the hill-crest—
The mysteries remain, I keep the same cycle of seed—time and of sun and rain; Demeter in the grass,
You are clear O rose, cut in rock, hard as the descent of hail. I could scrape the colour from the petals