Evening - Poem by Hilda Doolittle
The light passes
from ridge to ridge,
from flower to flower—
the hepaticas, wide-spread
under the light
the petals reach inward,
the blue tips bend
toward the bluer heart
and the flowers are lost.
The cornel-buds are still white,
but shadows dart
from the cornel-roots—
black creeps from root to root,
cuts another leaf on the grass,
shadow seeks shadow,
then both leaf
and leaf-shadow are lost.
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