Hilda Doolittle Poems

All Greece hates
the still eyes in the white face,
the lustre as of olives
where she stands,
...

Rose, harsh rose,
marred and with stint of petals,
meagre flower, thin,
sparse of leaf,
...

The mysteries remain,
I keep the same
cycle of seed-time
and of sun and rain;
...

1.

Each of us like you
has died once,
...

Silver dust
lifted from the earth,
higher than my arms reach,
you have mounted.
...

O wind, rend open the heat,
cut apart the heat,
rend it to tatters.
...

Where the slow river
meets the tide,
a red swan lifts red wings
and darker beak,
...

Can we believe -- by an effort
comfort our hearts:
it is not waste all this,
not placed here in disgust,
...

Whirl up, sea—
Whirl your pointed pines.
Splash your great pines
On our rocks.
...

Are you alive?
I touch you.
You quiver like a sea-fish.
I cover you with my net.
...