#AmericanWriters
Weed, moss—weed, root tangled in sand, sea—iris, brittle flower, one petal like a shell is broken,
O be swift— we have always known you wanted us… We fled inland with our flocks. we pastured them in hollows, cut off from the wind
Wash of cold river in a glacial land, Ionian water, chill, snow—ribbed sand, drift of rare flowers,
Whirl up, sea— whirl your pointed pines, splash your great pines on our rocks, hurl your green over us,
YOU are as gold as the half—ripe grain that merges to gold again, as white as the white rain that beats through
Where the slow river meets the tide, a red swan lifts red wings and darker beak, and underneath the purple down
The white violet is scented on its stalk, the sea—violet fragile as agate, lies fronting all the wind
The light passes from ridge to ridge, from flower to flower— the hepaticas, wide—spread under the light
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
Can we believe—by an effort comfort our hearts: it is not waste all this, not placed here in disgust, street after street,
Silver dust lifted from the earth, higher than my arms reach, you have mounted. O silver,
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…
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;
Thou art come at length More beautiful Than any cool god In a chamber under Lycia’s far coast,
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,