Author: Hilda Doolittle

All Greece hates The still eyes in the white face, The lustre as of olives Where she stands, And the […]

The mysteries remain, I keep the same Cycle of seed-time And of sun and rain; Demeter in the grass, I […]

Wash of cold river In a glacial land, Ionian water, Chill, snow-ribbed sand, Drift of rare flowers, Clear, with delicate […]

O wind, rend open the heat, Cut apart the heat, Rend it to tatters. Fruit cannot drop Through this thick […]

Bear me to Dictaeus, And to the steep slopes; To the river Erymanthus. I choose spray of dittany, Cyperum, frail […]

Where the slow river Meets the tide, A red swan lifts red wings And darker beak, And underneath the purple […]

1. Each of us like you Has died once, Has passed through drift of wood-leaves, Cracked and bent And tortured […]

Rose, harsh rose, Marred and with stint of petals, Meagre flower, thin, Sparse of leaf, More precious Than a wet […]