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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Sea Garden, by Hilda Doolittle
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Sea Garden
+
+Author: Hilda Doolittle
+
+Release Date: May 2, 2009 [EBook #28665]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SEA GARDEN ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Meredith Bach and the Online Distributed
+Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was
+produced from images generously made available by The
+Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+  +------------------------------------------------------------+
+  | Transcriber's Note                                         |
+  |                                                            |
+  | Obvious typographical errors have been corrected in        |
+  | this text. For a complete list, please see the bottom of   |
+  | this document.                                             |
+  +------------------------------------------------------------+
+
+
+
+
+SEA GARDEN
+
+
+
+
+The editors and publishers concerned have kindly given me permission to
+reprint some of the poems in this book which appeared originally in
+"Poetry" (Chicago), "The Egoist" (London), "The Little Review"
+(Chicago), "Greenwich Village" (New York), the first Imagist anthology
+(New York: A. and C. Boni. London: Poetry Bookshop), the second Imagist
+anthology ("Some Imagist Poets," London: Constable and Co. Boston:
+Houghton Mifflin Co.).
+
+
+
+
+SEA GARDEN
+
+BY
+
+H. D.
+
+
+LONDON
+CONSTABLE AND COMPANY LTD.
+1916
+
+PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN.
+CHISWICK PRESS: CHARLES WHITTINGHAM AND CO.
+TOOKS COURT, CHANCERY LANE, LONDON.
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+                             PAGE
+
+SEA ROSE                        1
+
+THE HELMSMAN                    2
+
+THE SHRINE                      4
+
+MID-DAY                         7
+
+PURSUIT                         8
+
+THE CONTEST                    10
+
+SEA LILY                       12
+
+THE WIND SLEEPERS              13
+
+THE GIFT                       14
+
+EVENING                        17
+
+SHELTERED GARDEN               18
+
+SEA POPPIES                    20
+
+LOSS                           21
+
+HUNTRESS                       23
+
+GARDEN                         24
+
+SEA VIOLET                     25
+
+THE CLIFF TEMPLE               26
+
+ORCHARD                        29
+
+SEA GODS                       30
+
+ACON                           33
+
+NIGHT                          35
+
+PRISONERS                      36
+
+STORM                          39
+
+SEA IRIS                       40
+
+HERMES OF THE WAYS             41
+
+PEAR TREE                      43
+
+CITIES                         44
+
+THE CITY IS PEOPLED            47
+
+
+
+
+SEA GARDEN
+
+
+
+
+SEA ROSE
+
+
+    Rose, harsh rose,
+    marred and with stint of petals,
+    meagre flower, thin,
+    sparse of leaf,
+
+    more precious
+    than a wet rose
+    single on a stem--
+    you are caught in the drift.
+
+    Stunted, with small leaf,
+    you are flung on the sand,
+    you are lifted
+    in the crisp sand
+    that drives in the wind.
+
+    Can the spice-rose
+    drip such acrid fragrance
+    hardened in a leaf?
+
+
+
+
+THE HELMSMAN
+
+
+    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
+    and the salt track of the marsh.
+
+    We worshipped inland--
+    we stepped past wood-flowers,
+    we forgot your tang,
+    we brushed wood-grass.
+
+    We wandered from pine-hills
+    through oak and scrub-oak tangles,
+    we broke hyssop and bramble,
+    we caught flower and new bramble-fruit
+    in our hair: we laughed
+    as each branch whipped back,
+    we tore our feet in half buried rocks
+    and knotted roots and acorn-cups.
+
+    We forgot--we worshipped,
+    we parted green from green,
+    we sought further thickets,
+    we dipped our ankles
+    through leaf-mould and earth,
+    and wood and wood-bank enchanted us--
+
+    and the feel of the clefts in the bark,
+    and the slope between tree and tree--
+    and a slender path strung field to field
+    and wood to wood
+    and hill to hill
+    and the forest after it.
+
+    We forgot--for a moment
+    tree-resin, tree-bark,
+    sweat of a torn branch
+    were sweet to the taste.
+
+    We were enchanted with the fields,
+    the tufts of coarse grass
+    in the shorter grass--
+    we loved all this.
+
+    But now, our boat climbs--hesitates--drops--
+    climbs--hesitates--crawls back--
+    climbs--hesitates--
+    O be swift--
+    we have always known you wanted us.
+
+
+
+
+THE SHRINE
+
+("SHE WATCHES OVER THE SEA")
+
+
+    I
+
+    Are your rocks shelter for ships--
+    have you sent galleys from your beach,
+    are you graded--a safe crescent--
+    where the tide lifts them back to port--
+    are you full and sweet,
+    tempting the quiet
+    to depart in their trading ships?
+
+    Nay, you are great, fierce, evil--
+    you are the land-blight--
+    you have tempted men
+    but they perished on your cliffs.
+
+    Your lights are but dank shoals,
+    slate and pebble and wet shells
+    and seaweed fastened to the rocks.
+
+    It was evil--evil
+    when they found you,
+    when the quiet men looked at you--
+    they sought a headland
+    shaded with ledge of cliff
+    from the wind-blast.
+
+    But you--you are unsheltered,
+    cut with the weight of wind--
+    you shudder when it strikes,
+    then lift, swelled with the blast--
+    you sink as the tide sinks,
+    you shrill under hail, and sound
+    thunder when thunder sounds.
+    You are useless--
+    when the tides swirl
+    your boulders cut and wreck
+    the staggering ships.
+
+
+    II
+
+    You are useless,
+    O grave, O beautiful,
+    the landsmen tell it--I have heard--
+    you are useless.
+
+    And the wind sounds with this
+    and the sea
+    where rollers shot with blue
+    cut under deeper blue.
+
+    O but stay tender, enchanted
+    where wave-lengths cut you
+    apart from all the rest--
+    for we have found you,
+    we watch the splendour of you,
+    we thread throat on throat of freesia
+    for your shelf.
+
+    You are not forgot,
+    O plunder of lilies,
+    honey is not more sweet
+    than the salt stretch of your beach.
+
+
+    III
+
+    Stay--stay--
+    but terror has caught us now,
+    we passed the men in ships,
+    we dared deeper than the fisher-folk
+    and you strike us with terror
+    O bright shaft.
+
+    Flame passes under us
+    and sparks that unknot the flesh,
+    sorrow, splitting bone from bone,
+    splendour athwart our eyes
+    and rifts in the splendour,
+    sparks and scattered light.
+
+    Many warned of this,
+    men said:
+    there are wrecks on the fore-beach,
+    wind will beat your ship,
+    there is no shelter in that headland,
+    it is useless waste, that edge,
+    that front of rock--
+    sea-gulls clang beyond the breakers,
+    none venture to that spot.
+
+
+    IV
+
+    But hail--
+    as the tide slackens,
+    as the wind beats out,
+    we hail this shore--
+    we sing to you,
+    spirit between the headlands
+    and the further rocks.
+
+    Though oak-beams split,
+    though boats and sea-men flounder,
+    and the strait grind sand with sand
+    and cut boulders to sand and drift--
+
+    your eyes have pardoned our faults,
+    your hands have touched us--
+    you have leaned forward a little
+    and the waves can never thrust us back
+    from the splendour of your ragged coast.
+
+
+
+
+MID-DAY
+
+
+    The light beats upon me.
+    I am startled--
+    a split leaf crackles on the paved floor--
+    I am anguished--defeated.
+
+    A slight wind shakes the seed-pods--
+    my thoughts are spent
+    as the black seeds.
+    My thoughts tear me,
+    I dread their fever.
+    I am scattered in its whirl.
+    I am scattered like
+    the hot shrivelled seeds.
+
+    The shrivelled seeds
+    are spilt on the path--
+    the grass bends with dust,
+    the grape slips
+    under its crackled leaf:
+    yet far beyond the spent seed-pods,
+    and the blackened stalks of mint,
+    the poplar is bright on the hill,
+    the poplar spreads out,
+    deep-rooted among trees.
+
+    O poplar, you are great
+    among the hill-stones,
+    while I perish on the path
+    among the crevices of the rocks.
+
+
+
+
+PURSUIT
+
+
+    What do I care
+    that the stream is trampled,
+    the sand on the stream-bank
+    still holds the print of your foot:
+    the heel is cut deep.
+    I see another mark
+    on the grass ridge of the bank--
+    it points toward the wood-path.
+    I have lost the third
+    in the packed earth.
+
+    But here
+    a wild-hyacinth stalk is snapped:
+    the purple buds--half ripe--
+    show deep purple
+    where your heel pressed.
+
+    A patch of flowering grass,
+    low, trailing--
+    you brushed this:
+    the green stems show yellow-green
+    where you lifted--turned the earth-side
+    to the light:
+    this and a dead leaf-spine,
+    split across,
+    show where you passed.
+
+    You were swift, swift!
+    here the forest ledge slopes--
+    rain has furrowed the roots.
+    Your hand caught at this;
+    the root snapped under your weight.
+
+    I can almost follow the note
+    where it touched this slender tree
+    and the next answered--
+    and the next.
+
+    And you climbed yet further!
+    you stopped by the dwarf-cornel--
+    whirled on your heels,
+    doubled on your track.
+
+    This is clear--
+    you fell on the downward slope,
+    you dragged a bruised thigh--you limped--
+    you clutched this larch.
+
+    Did your head, bent back,
+    search further--
+    clear through the green leaf-moss
+    of the larch branches?
+
+    Did you clutch,
+    stammer with short breath and gasp:
+    _wood-daemons grant life--
+    give life--I am almost lost._
+
+    For some wood-daemon
+    has lightened your steps.
+    I can find no trace of you
+    in the larch-cones and the underbrush.
+
+
+
+
+THE CONTEST
+
+
+
+    I
+
+    Your stature is modelled
+    with straight tool-edge:
+    you are chiselled like rocks
+    that are eaten into by the sea.
+
+    With the turn and grasp of your wrist
+    and the chords' stretch,
+    there is a glint like worn brass.
+
+    The ridge of your breast is taut,
+    and under each the shadow is sharp,
+    and between the clenched muscles
+    of your slender hips.
+
+    From the circle of your cropped hair
+    there is light,
+    and about your male torse
+    and the foot-arch and the straight ankle.
+
+
+    II
+
+    You stand rigid and mighty--
+    granite and the ore in rocks;
+    a great band clasps your forehead
+    and its heavy twists of gold.
+
+    You are white--a limb of cypress
+    bent under a weight of snow.
+
+    You are splendid,
+    your arms are fire;
+    you have entered the hill-straits--
+    a sea treads upon the hill-slopes.
+
+
+    III
+
+    Myrtle is about your head,
+    you have bent and caught the spray:
+    each leaf is sharp
+    against the lift and furrow
+    of your bound hair.
+
+    The narcissus has copied the arch
+    of your slight breast:
+    your feet are citron-flowers,
+    your knees, cut from white-ash,
+    your thighs are rock-cistus.
+
+    Your chin lifts straight
+    from the hollow of your curved throat.
+    Your shoulders are level--
+    they have melted rare silver
+    for their breadth.
+
+
+
+
+SEA LILY
+
+
+    Reed,
+    slashed and torn
+    but doubly rich--
+    such great heads as yours
+    drift upon temple-steps,
+    but you are shattered
+    in the wind.
+
+    Myrtle-bark
+    is flecked from you,
+    scales are dashed
+    from your stem,
+    sand cuts your petal,
+    furrows it with hard edge,
+    like flint
+    on a bright stone.
+
+    Yet though the whole wind
+    slash at your bark,
+    you are lifted up,
+    aye--though it hiss
+    to cover you with froth.
+
+
+
+
+THE WIND SLEEPERS
+
+
+    Whiter
+    than the crust
+    left by the tide,
+    we are stung by the hurled sand
+    and the broken shells.
+
+    We no longer sleep
+    in the wind--
+    we awoke and fled
+    through the city gate.
+
+    Tear--
+    tear us an altar,
+    tug at the cliff-boulders,
+    pile them with the rough stones--
+    we no longer
+    sleep in the wind,
+    propitiate us.
+
+    Chant in a wail
+    that never halts,
+    pace a circle and pay tribute
+    with a song.
+
+    When the roar of a dropped wave
+    breaks into it,
+    pour meted words
+    of sea-hawks and gulls
+    and sea-birds that cry
+    discords.
+
+
+
+
+THE GIFT
+
+
+    Instead of pearls--a wrought clasp--
+    a bracelet--will you accept this?
+
+    You know the script--
+    you will start, wonder:
+    what is left, what phrase
+    after last night? This:
+
+    The world is yet unspoiled for you,
+    you wait, expectant--
+    you are like the children
+    who haunt your own steps
+    for chance bits--a comb
+    that may have slipped,
+    a gold tassel, unravelled,
+    plucked from your scarf,
+    twirled by your slight fingers
+    into the street--
+    a flower dropped.
+
+    Do not think me unaware,
+    I who have snatched at you
+    as the street-child clutched
+    at the seed-pearls you spilt
+    that hot day
+    when your necklace snapped.
+
+    Do not dream that I speak
+    as one defrauded of delight,
+    sick, shaken by each heart-beat
+    or paralyzed, stretched at length,
+    who gasps:
+    these ripe pears
+    are bitter to the taste,
+    this spiced wine, poison, corrupt.
+    I cannot walk--
+    who would walk?
+    Life is a scavenger's pit--I escape--
+    I only, rejecting it,
+    lying here on this couch.
+
+    Your garden sloped to the beach,
+    myrtle overran the paths,
+    honey and amber flecked each leaf,
+    the citron-lily head--
+    one among many--
+    weighed there, over-sweet.
+
+    The myrrh-hyacinth
+    spread across low slopes,
+    violets streaked black ridges
+    through the grass.
+
+    The house, too, was like this,
+    over painted, over lovely--
+    the world is like this.
+
+    Sleepless nights,
+    I remember the initiates,
+    their gesture, their calm glance.
+    I have heard how in rapt thought,
+    in vision, they speak
+    with another race,
+    more beautiful, more intense than this.
+    I could laugh--
+    more beautiful, more intense?
+
+    Perhaps that other life
+    is contrast always to this.
+    I reason:
+    I have lived as they
+    in their inmost rites--
+    they endure the tense nerves
+    through the moment of ritual.
+    I endure from moment to moment--
+    days pass all alike,
+    tortured, intense.
+
+    This I forgot last night:
+    you must not be blamed,
+    it is not your fault;
+    as a child, a flower--any flower
+    tore my breast--
+    meadow-chicory, a common grass-tip,
+    a leaf shadow, a flower tint
+    unexpected on a winter-branch.
+
+    I reason:
+    another life holds what this lacks,
+    a sea, unmoving, quiet--
+    not forcing our strength
+    to rise to it, beat on beat--
+    stretch of sand,
+    no garden beyond, strangling
+    with its myrrh-lilies--
+    a hill, not set with black violets
+    but stones, stones, bare rocks,
+    dwarf-trees, twisted, no beauty
+    to distract--to crowd
+    madness upon madness.
+
+    Only a still place
+    and perhaps some outer horror
+    some hideousness to stamp beauty,
+    a mark--no changing it now--
+    on our hearts.
+
+    I send no string of pearls,
+    no bracelet--accept this.
+
+
+
+
+EVENING
+
+
+    The light passes
+    from ridge to ridge,
+    from flower to flower--
+    the hypaticas, wide-spread
+    under the light
+    grow faint--
+    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,
+    each leaf
+    cuts another leaf on the grass,
+    shadow seeks shadow,
+    then both leaf
+    and leaf-shadow are lost.
+
+
+
+
+SHELTERED GARDEN
+
+
+    I have had enough.
+    I gasp for breath.
+
+    Every way ends, every road,
+    every foot-path leads at last
+    to the hill-crest--
+    then you retrace your steps,
+    or find the same slope on the other side,
+    precipitate.
+
+    I have had enough--
+    border-pinks, clove-pinks, wax-lilies,
+    herbs, sweet-cress.
+
+    O for some sharp swish of a branch--
+    there is no scent of resin
+    in this place,
+    no taste of bark, of coarse weeds,
+    aromatic, astringent--
+    only border on border of scented pinks.
+
+    Have you seen fruit under cover
+    that wanted light--
+    pears wadded in cloth,
+    protected from the frost,
+    melons, almost ripe,
+    smothered in straw?
+
+    Why not let the pears cling
+    to the empty branch?
+    All your coaxing will only make
+    a bitter fruit--
+    let them cling, ripen of themselves,
+    test their own worth,
+    nipped, shrivelled by the frost,
+    to fall at last but fair
+    with a russet coat.
+
+    Or the melon--
+    let it bleach yellow
+    in the winter light,
+    even tart to the taste--
+    it is better to taste of frost--
+    the exquisite frost--
+    than of wadding and of dead grass.
+
+    For this beauty,
+    beauty without strength,
+    chokes out life.
+    I want wind to break,
+    scatter these pink-stalks,
+    snap off their spiced heads,
+    fling them about with dead leaves--
+    spread the paths with twigs,
+    limbs broken off,
+    trail great pine branches,
+    hurled from some far wood
+    right across the melon-patch,
+    break pear and quince--
+    leave half-trees, torn, twisted
+    but showing the fight was valiant.
+
+    O to blot out this garden
+    to forget, to find a new beauty
+    in some terrible
+    wind-tortured place.
+
+
+
+
+SEA POPPIES
+
+
+    Amber husk
+    fluted with gold,
+    fruit on the sand
+    marked with a rich grain,
+
+    treasure
+    spilled near the shrub-pines
+    to bleach on the boulders:
+
+    your stalk has caught root
+    among wet pebbles
+    and drift flung by the sea
+    and grated shells
+    and split conch-shells.
+
+    Beautiful, wide-spread,
+    fire upon leaf,
+    what meadow yields
+    so fragrant a leaf
+    as your bright leaf?
+
+
+
+
+LOSS
+
+
+    The sea called--
+    you faced the estuary,
+    you were drowned as the tide passed.--
+    I am glad of this--
+    at least you have escaped.
+
+    The heavy sea-mist stifles me.
+    I choke with each breath--
+    a curious peril, this--
+    the gods have invented
+    curious torture for us.
+
+    One of us, pierced in the flank,
+    dragged himself across the marsh,
+    he tore at the bay-roots,
+    lost hold on the crumbling bank--
+
+    Another crawled--too late--
+    for shelter under the cliffs.
+
+    I am glad the tide swept you out,
+    O beloved,
+    you of all this ghastly host
+    alone untouched,
+    your white flesh covered with salt
+    as with myrrh and burnt iris.
+
+    We were hemmed in this place,
+    so few of us, so few of us to fight
+    their sure lances,
+    the straight thrust--effortless
+    with slight life of muscle and shoulder.
+
+    So straight--only we were left,
+    the four of us--somehow shut off.
+
+    And the marsh dragged one back,
+    and another perished under the cliff,
+    and the tide swept you out.
+
+    Your feet cut steel on the paths,
+    I followed for the strength
+    of life and grasp.
+    I have seen beautiful feet
+    but never beauty welded with strength.
+    I marvelled at your height.
+
+    You stood almost level
+    with the lance-bearers
+    and so slight.
+
+    And I wondered as you clasped
+    your shoulder-strap
+    at the strength of your wrist
+    and the turn of your young fingers,
+    and the lift of your shorn locks,
+    and the bronze
+    of your sun-burnt neck.
+
+    All of this,
+    and the curious knee-cap,
+    fitted above the wrought greaves,
+    and the sharp muscles of your back
+    which the tunic could not cover--
+    the outline
+    no garment could deface.
+
+    I wonder if you knew how I watched,
+    how I crowded before the spearsmen--
+    but the gods wanted you,
+    the gods wanted you back.
+
+
+
+
+HUNTRESS
+
+
+    Come, blunt your spear with us,
+    our pace is hot
+    and our bare heels
+    in the heel-prints--
+    we stand tense--do you see--
+    are you already beaten
+    by the chase?
+
+    We lead the pace
+    for the wind on the hills,
+    the low hill is spattered
+    with loose earth--
+    our feet cut into the crust
+    as with spears.
+
+    We climbed the ploughed land,
+    dragged the seed from the clefts,
+    broke the clods with our heels,
+    whirled with a parched cry
+    into the woods:
+
+    _Can you come,
+    can you come,
+    can you follow the hound trail,
+    can you trample the hot froth?_
+
+    Spring up--sway forward--
+    follow the quickest one,
+    aye, though you leave the trail
+    and drop exhausted at our feet.
+
+
+
+
+GARDEN
+
+
+    I
+
+    You are clear
+    O rose, cut in rock,
+    hard as the descent of hail.
+
+    I could scrape the colour
+    from the petals
+    like spilt dye from a rock.
+
+    If I could break you
+    I could break a tree.
+
+    If I could stir
+    I could break a tree--
+    I could break you.
+
+
+    II
+
+    O wind, rend open the heat,
+    cut apart the heat,
+    rend it to tatters.
+
+    Fruit cannot drop
+    through this thick air--
+    fruit cannot fall into heat
+    that presses up and blunts
+    the points of pears
+    and rounds the grapes.
+
+    Cut the heat--
+    plough through it,
+    turning it on either side
+    of your path.
+
+
+
+
+SEA VIOLET
+
+
+    The white violet
+    is scented on its stalk,
+    the sea-violet
+    fragile as agate,
+    lies fronting all the wind
+    among the torn shells
+    on the sand-bank.
+
+    The greater blue violets
+    flutter on the hill,
+    but who would change for these
+    who would change for these
+    one root of the white sort?
+
+    Violet
+    your grasp is frail
+    on the edge of the sand-hill,
+    but you catch the light--
+    frost, a star edges with its fire.
+
+
+
+
+THE CLIFF TEMPLE
+
+
+    I
+
+    Great, bright portal,
+    shelf of rock,
+    rocks fitted in long ledges,
+    rocks fitted to dark, to silver granite,
+    to lighter rock--
+    clean cut, white against white.
+
+    High--high--and no hill-goat
+    tramples--no mountain-sheep
+    has set foot on your fine grass;
+    you lift, you are the world-edge,
+    pillar for the sky-arch.
+
+    The world heaved--
+    we are next to the sky:
+    over us, sea-hawks shout,
+    gulls sweep past--
+    the terrible breakers are silent
+    from this place.
+
+    Below us, on the rock-edge,
+    where earth is caught in the fissures
+    of the jagged cliff,
+    a small tree stiffens in the gale,
+    it bends--but its white flowers
+    are fragrant at this height.
+
+    And under and under,
+    the wind booms:
+    it whistles, it thunders,
+    it growls--it presses the grass
+    beneath its great feet.
+
+
+    II
+
+    I said:
+    for ever and for ever, must I follow you
+    through the stones?
+    I catch at you--you lurch:
+    you are quicker than my hand-grasp.
+
+    I wondered at you.
+    I shouted--dear--mysterious--beautiful--
+    white myrtle-flesh.
+
+    I was splintered and torn:
+    the hill-path mounted
+    swifter than my feet.
+
+    Could a daemon avenge this hurt,
+    I would cry to him--could a ghost,
+    I would shout--O evil,
+    follow this god,
+    taunt him with his evil and his vice.
+
+
+    III
+
+    Shall I hurl myself from here,
+    shall I leap and be nearer you?
+    Shall I drop, beloved, beloved,
+    ankle against ankle?
+    Would you pity me, O white breast?
+
+    If I woke, would you pity me,
+    would our eyes meet?
+
+    Have you heard,
+    do you know how I climbed this rock?
+    My breath caught, I lurched forward--
+    stumbled in the ground-myrtle.
+
+    Have you heard, O god seated on the cliff,
+    how far toward the ledges of your house,
+    how far I had to walk?
+
+
+    IV
+
+    Over me the wind swirls.
+    I have stood on your portal
+    and I know--
+    you are further than this,
+    still further on another cliff.
+
+
+
+
+ORCHARD
+
+
+    I saw the first pear
+    as it fell--
+    the honey-seeking, golden-banded,
+    the yellow swarm
+    was not more fleet than I,
+    (spare us from loveliness)
+    and I fell prostrate
+    crying:
+    you have flayed us
+    with your blossoms,
+    spare us the beauty
+    of fruit-trees.
+
+    The honey-seeking
+    paused not,
+    the air thundered their song,
+    and I alone was prostrate.
+
+    O rough-hewn
+    god of the orchard,
+    I bring you an offering--
+    do you, alone unbeautiful,
+    son of the god,
+    spare us from loveliness:
+
+    these fallen hazel-nuts,
+    stripped late of their green sheaths,
+    grapes, red-purple,
+    their berries
+    dripping with wine,
+    pomegranates already broken,
+    and shrunken figs
+    and quinces untouched,
+    I bring you as offering.
+
+
+
+
+SEA GODS
+
+
+    I
+
+    They say there is no hope--
+    sand--drift--rocks--rubble of the sea--
+    the broken hulk of a ship,
+    hung with shreds of rope,
+    pallid under the cracked pitch.
+
+    They say there is no hope
+    to conjure you--
+    no whip of the tongue to anger you--
+    no hate of words
+    you must rise to refute.
+
+    They say you are twisted by the sea,
+    you are cut apart
+    by wave-break upon wave-break,
+    that you are misshapen by the sharp rocks,
+    broken by the rasp and after-rasp.
+
+    That you are cut, torn, mangled,
+    torn by the stress and beat,
+    no stronger than the strips of sand
+    along your ragged beach.
+
+
+    II
+
+    But we bring violets,
+    great masses--single, sweet,
+    wood-violets, stream-violets,
+    violets from a wet marsh.
+
+    Violets in clumps from hills,
+    tufts with earth at the roots,
+    violets tugged from rocks,
+    blue violets, moss, cliff, river-violets.
+
+    Yellow violets' gold,
+    burnt with a rare tint--
+    violets like red ash
+    among tufts of grass.
+
+    We bring deep-purple
+    bird-foot violets.
+
+    We bring the hyacinth-violet,
+    sweet, bare, chill to the touch--
+    and violets whiter than the in-rush
+    of your own white surf.
+
+
+    III
+
+    For you will come,
+    you will yet haunt men in ships,
+    you will trail across the fringe of strait
+    and circle the jagged rocks.
+
+    You will trail across the rocks
+    and wash them with your salt,
+    you will curl between sand-hills--
+    you will thunder along the cliff--
+    break--retreat--get fresh strength--
+    gather and pour weight upon the beach.
+
+    You will draw back,
+    and the ripple on the sand-shelf
+    will be witness of your track.
+    O privet-white, you will paint
+    the lintel of wet sand with froth.
+
+    You will bring myrrh-bark
+    and drift laurel-wood from hot coasts!
+    when you hurl high--high--
+    we will answer with a shout.
+
+    For you will come,
+    you will come,
+    you will answer our taut hearts,
+    you will break the lie of men's thoughts,
+    and cherish and shelter us.
+
+
+
+
+ACON
+
+
+    I
+
+    Bear me to Dictaeus,
+    and to the steep slopes;
+    to the river Erymanthus.
+
+    I choose spray of dittany,
+    cyperum, frail of flower,
+    buds of myrrh,
+    all-healing herbs,
+    close pressed in calathes.
+
+    For she lies panting,
+    drawing sharp breath,
+    broken with harsh sobs,
+    she, Hyella,
+    whom no god pities.
+
+
+    II
+
+    Dryads
+    haunting the groves,
+    nereids
+    who dwell in wet caves,
+    for all the white leaves of olive-branch,
+    and early roses,
+    and ivy wreaths, woven gold berries,
+    which she once brought to your altars,
+    bear now ripe fruits from Arcadia,
+    and Assyrian wine
+    to shatter her fever.
+
+    The light of her face falls from its flower,
+    as a hyacinth,
+    hidden in a far valley,
+    perishes upon burnt grass.
+
+    Pales,
+    bring gifts,
+    bring your Phoenician stuffs,
+    and do you, fleet-footed nymphs,
+    bring offerings,
+    Illyrian iris,
+    and a branch of shrub,
+    and frail-headed poppies.
+
+
+
+
+NIGHT
+
+
+    The night has cut
+    each from each
+    and curled the petals
+    back from the stalk
+    and under it in crisp rows;
+
+    under at an unfaltering pace,
+    under till the rinds break,
+    back till each bent leaf
+    is parted from its stalk;
+
+    under at a grave pace,
+    under till the leaves
+    are bent back
+    till they drop upon earth,
+    back till they are all broken.
+
+    O night,
+    you take the petals
+    of the roses in your hand,
+    but leave the stark core
+    of the rose
+    to perish on the branch.
+
+
+
+
+PRISONERS
+
+
+    It is strange that I should want
+    this sight of your face--
+    we have had so much:
+    at any moment now I may pass,
+    stand near the gate,
+    do not speak--
+    only reach if you can, your face
+    half-fronting the passage
+    toward the light.
+
+    Fate--God sends this as a mark,
+    a last token that we are not forgot,
+    lost in this turmoil,
+    about to be crushed out,
+    burned or stamped out
+    at best with sudden death.
+
+    The spearsman who brings this
+    will ask for the gold clasp
+    you wear under your coat.
+    I gave all I had left.
+
+    Press close to the portal,
+    my gate will soon clang
+    and your fellow wretches
+    will crowd to the entrance--
+    be first at the gate.
+
+    Ah beloved, do not speak.
+    I write this in great haste--
+    do not speak,
+    you may yet be released.
+    I am glad enough to depart
+    though I have never tasted life
+    as in these last weeks.
+
+    It is a strange life,
+    patterned in fire and letters
+    on the prison pavement.
+    If I glance up
+    it is written on the walls,
+    it is cut on the floor,
+    it is patterned across
+    the slope of the roof.
+
+    I am weak--weak--
+    last night if the guard
+    had left the gate unlocked
+    I could not have ventured to escape,
+    but one thought serves me now
+    with strength.
+
+    As I pass down the corridor
+    past desperate faces at each cell,
+    your eyes and my eyes may meet.
+
+    You will be dark, unkempt,
+    but I pray for one glimpse of your face--
+    why do I want this?
+    I who have seen you at the banquet
+    each flower of your hyacinth-circlet
+    white against your hair.
+
+    Why do I want this,
+    when even last night
+    you startled me from sleep?
+    You stood against the dark rock,
+    you grasped an elder staff.
+
+    So many nights
+    you have distracted me from terror.
+    Once you lifted a spear-flower.
+    I remember how you stooped
+    to gather it--
+    and it flamed, the leaf and shoot
+    and the threads, yellow, yellow--
+    sheer till they burnt
+    to red-purple in the cup.
+
+    As I pass your cell-door
+    do not speak.
+    I was first on the list--
+    They may forget you tried to shield me
+    as the horsemen passed.
+
+
+
+
+STORM
+
+
+    You crash over the trees,
+    you crack the live branch--
+    the branch is white,
+    the green crushed,
+    each leaf is rent like split wood.
+
+    You burden the trees
+    with black drops,
+    you swirl and crash--
+    you have broken off a weighted leaf
+    in the wind,
+    it is hurled out,
+    whirls up and sinks,
+    a green stone.
+
+
+
+
+SEA IRIS
+
+
+    I
+
+    Weed, moss-weed,
+    root tangled in sand,
+    sea-iris, brittle flower,
+    one petal like a shell
+    is broken,
+    and you print a shadow
+    like a thin twig.
+
+    Fortunate one,
+    scented and stinging,
+    rigid myrrh-bud,
+    camphor-flower,
+    sweet and salt--you are wind
+    in our nostrils.
+
+
+    II
+
+    Do the murex-fishers
+    drench you as they pass?
+    Do your roots drag up colour
+    from the sand?
+    Have they slipped gold under you--
+    rivets of gold?
+
+    Band of iris-flowers
+    above the waves,
+    you are painted blue,
+    painted like a fresh prow
+    stained among the salt weeds.
+
+
+
+
+HERMES OF THE WAYS
+
+
+    The hard sand breaks,
+    and the grains of it
+    are clear as wine.
+
+    Far off over the leagues of it,
+    the wind,
+    playing on the wide shore,
+    piles little ridges,
+    and the great waves
+    break over it.
+
+    But more than the many-foamed ways
+    of the sea,
+    I know him
+    of the triple path-ways,
+    Hermes,
+    who awaits.
+
+    Dubious,
+    facing three ways,
+    welcoming wayfarers,
+    he whom the sea-orchard
+    shelters from the west,
+    from the east
+    weathers sea-wind;
+    fronts the great dunes.
+
+    Wind rushes
+    over the dunes,
+    and the coarse, salt-crusted grass
+    answers.
+
+    Heu,
+    it whips round my ankles!
+
+
+    II
+
+    Small is
+    this white stream,
+    flowing below ground
+    from the poplar-shaded hill,
+    but the water is sweet.
+
+    Apples on the small trees
+    are hard,
+    too small,
+    too late ripened
+    by a desperate sun
+    that struggles through sea-mist.
+
+    The boughs of the trees
+    are twisted
+    by many bafflings;
+    twisted are
+    the small-leafed boughs.
+
+    But the shadow of them
+    is not the shadow of the mast head
+    nor of the torn sails.
+
+    Hermes, Hermes,
+    the great sea foamed,
+    gnashed its teeth about me;
+    but you have waited,
+    were sea-grass tangles with
+    shore-grass.
+
+
+
+
+PEAR TREE
+
+
+    Silver dust
+    lifted from the earth,
+    higher than my arms reach,
+    you have mounted,
+    O silver,
+    higher than my arms reach
+    you front us with great mass;
+
+    no flower ever opened
+    so staunch a white leaf,
+    no flower ever parted silver
+    from such rare silver;
+
+    O white pear,
+    your flower-tufts
+    thick on the branch
+    bring summer and ripe fruits
+    in their purple hearts.
+
+
+
+
+CITIES
+
+
+    Can we believe--by an effort
+    comfort our hearts:
+    it is not waste all this,
+    not placed here in disgust,
+    street after street,
+    each patterned alike,
+    no grace to lighten
+    a single house of the hundred
+    crowded into one garden-space.
+
+    Crowded--can we believe,
+    not in utter disgust,
+    in ironical play--
+    but the maker of cities grew faint
+    with the beauty of temple
+    and space before temple,
+    arch upon perfect arch,
+    of pillars and corridors that led out
+    to strange court-yards and porches
+    where sun-light stamped
+    hyacinth-shadows
+    black on the pavement.
+
+    That the maker of cities grew faint
+    with the splendour of palaces,
+    paused while the incense-flowers
+    from the incense-trees
+    dropped on the marble-walk,
+    thought anew, fashioned this--
+    street after street alike.
+
+    For alas,
+    he had crowded the city so full
+    that men could not grasp beauty,
+    beauty was over them,
+    through them, about them,
+    no crevice unpacked with the honey,
+    rare, measureless.
+
+    So he built a new city,
+    ah can we believe, not ironically
+    but for new splendour
+    constructed new people
+    to lift through slow growth
+    to a beauty unrivalled yet--
+    and created new cells,
+    hideous first, hideous now--
+    spread larve across them,
+    not honey but seething life.
+
+    And in these dark cells,
+    packed street after street,
+    souls live, hideous yet--
+    O disfigured, defaced,
+    with no trace of the beauty
+    men once held so light.
+
+    Can we think a few old cells
+    were left--we are left--
+    grains of honey,
+    old dust of stray pollen
+    dull on our torn wings,
+    we are left to recall the old streets?
+
+    Is our task the less sweet
+    that the larve still sleep in their cells?
+    Or crawl out to attack our frail strength:
+    You are useless. We live.
+    We await great events.
+    We are spread through this earth.
+    We protect our strong race.
+    You are useless.
+    Your cell takes the place
+    of our young future strength.
+
+    Though they sleep or wake to torment
+    and wish to displace our old cells--
+    thin rare gold--
+    that their larve grow fat--
+    is our task the less sweet?
+
+    Though we wander about,
+    find no honey of flowers in this waste,
+    is our task the less sweet--
+    who recall the old splendour,
+    await the new beauty of cities?
+
+
+
+
+    _The city is peopled
+    with spirits, not ghosts, O my love:_
+
+    _Though they crowded between
+    and usurped the kiss of my mouth
+    their breath was your gift,
+    their beauty, your life._
+
+[Illustration]
+
+CHISWICK PRESS: CHARLES WHITTINGHAM AND CO. TOOKS COURT, CHANCERY LANE,
+LONDON.
+
+  +--------------------------------------------------------------+
+  | Transcriber's Notes                                          |
+  |                                                              |
+  | Page 10: torse _sic_                                         |
+  | Page 11: lower case amended to title case ("your shoulders   |
+  | are level" amended to "Your shoulders are level").           |
+  | Page 14: tassle amended to tassel                            |
+  | Page 15: scavanger's amended to scavenger's                  |
+  | Page 16: chickory amended to chicory                         |
+  | Page 26: fragant amended to fragrant                         |
+  | Page 30: lower case amended to title case ("they say there   |
+  | is no hope" amended to "They say there is no hope").         |
+  | Page 46: larve _sic_                                         |
+  |                                                              |
+  | "The City is peopled" did not appear with a title in the     |
+  | original edition.                                            |
+  +--------------------------------------------------------------+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Sea Garden, by Hilda Doolittle
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