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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/28665-h.zip b/28665-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..0db5425 --- /dev/null +++ b/28665-h.zip diff --git a/28665-h/28665-h.htm b/28665-h/28665-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2c9b0ee --- /dev/null +++ b/28665-h/28665-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,2202 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Sea Garden, by H. D. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + + body {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + + p {margin-top: .75em; text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em;} + .transnote {margin: 2em 5% 1em 5%; font-size: 90%; + padding: 0.5em 1em 0.5em 1em; + border: solid 1px silver;} + .frontend {text-align: center; font-size: 80%;} + .acknowledgements {margin-top: 5em; margin-left: 20%; text-align: justify; + font-size: 85%; margin-right: 20%; margin-bottom: 5em;} + + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 {text-align: center; clear: both;} + + hr {width: 33%; margin-top: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 1.5em; + margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; clear: both;} + + img {border: 0;} + + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + td {vertical-align: top;} + + .pagenum {position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: 70%; + text-align: right;} + + .center {text-align: center;} + .right {text-align: right;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + + .poem {margin-left:30%; margin-right:20%; text-align: left;} + .poem br {display: none;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem span.i0 {display: block; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 2em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i4 {display: block; margin-left: 4em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +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: ISO-8859-1 + +*** 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.) + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class='transnote'> +<h3>Transcriber's Note</h3> + +<p>Obvious typographical errors have been corrected in +this text. For a complete list, please see <a href="#tnote">the bottom of +this document</a>.</p> +</div> + + + +<h1>SEA GARDEN</h1> + + + +<p class='acknowledgements'>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.).</p> + + + + +<h1>SEA GARDEN</h1> + +<h3>BY</h3> + +<h2>H. D.</h2> + + +<p class='frontend'>LONDON<br /> +CONSTABLE AND COMPANY LTD.<br /> +1916</p> + +<p class='frontend'>PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN.<br /> +CHISWICK PRESS: CHARLES WHITTINGHAM AND CO.<br /> +TOOKS COURT, CHANCERY LANE, LONDON.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[v]</a></span></p> +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="toc"> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='right'><span class='smcap'>page</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Sea Rose</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Helmsman</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_2">2</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Shrine</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_4">4</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Mid-day</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_7">7</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Pursuit</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_8">8</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Contest</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_10">10</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Sea Lily</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_12">12</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Wind Sleepers</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_13">13</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Gift</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_14">14</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Evening</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_17">17</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Sheltered Garden</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_18">18</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Sea Poppies</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_20">20</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Loss</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_21">21</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Huntress</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_23">23</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Garden</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_24">24</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Sea Violet</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_25">25</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Cliff Temple</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_26">26</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Orchard</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_29">29</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Sea Gods</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_30">30</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Acon</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_33">33</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Night</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_35">35</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Prisoners</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_36">36</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Storm</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_39">39</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Sea Iris</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_40">40</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Hermes of the Ways</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_41">41</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Pear Tree</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_43">43</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Cities</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_44">44</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The City is peopled</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_47">47</a></td></tr> +</table></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p> +<h1>SEA GARDEN</h1> + + +<h2>SEA ROSE</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Rose, harsh rose,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">marred and with stint of petals,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">meagre flower, thin,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">sparse of leaf,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">more precious<br /></span> +<span class="i0">than a wet rose<br /></span> +<span class="i0">single on a stem—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">you are caught in the drift.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Stunted, with small leaf,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">you are flung on the sand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">you are lifted<br /></span> +<span class="i0">in the crisp sand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">that drives in the wind.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Can the spice-rose<br /></span> +<span class="i0">drip such acrid fragrance<br /></span> +<span class="i0">hardened in a leaf?<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE HELMSMAN</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O be swift—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">we have always known you wanted us.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We fled inland with our flocks,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">we pastured them in hollows,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">cut off from the wind<br /></span> +<span class="i0">and the salt track of the marsh.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We worshipped inland—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">we stepped past wood-flowers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">we forgot your tang,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">we brushed wood-grass.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We wandered from pine-hills<br /></span> +<span class="i0">through oak and scrub-oak tangles,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">we broke hyssop and bramble,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">we caught flower and new bramble-fruit<br /></span> +<span class="i0">in our hair: we laughed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">as each branch whipped back,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">we tore our feet in half buried rocks<br /></span> +<span class="i0">and knotted roots and acorn-cups.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We forgot—we worshipped,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">we parted green from green,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">we sought further thickets,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">we dipped our ankles<br /></span> +<span class="i0">through leaf-mould and earth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">and wood and wood-bank enchanted us—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">and the feel of the clefts in the bark,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">and the slope between tree and tree—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">and a slender path strung field to field<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span> +<span class="i0">and wood to wood<br /></span> +<span class="i0">and hill to hill<br /></span> +<span class="i0">and the forest after it.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We forgot—for a moment<br /></span> +<span class="i0">tree-resin, tree-bark,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">sweat of a torn branch<br /></span> +<span class="i0">were sweet to the taste.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We were enchanted with the fields,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">the tufts of coarse grass<br /></span> +<span class="i0">in the shorter grass—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">we loved all this.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But now, our boat climbs—hesitates—drops—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">climbs—hesitates—crawls back—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">climbs—hesitates—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O be swift—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">we have always known you wanted us.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE SHRINE</h2> + +<h3>("<span class='smcap'>she watches over the sea</span>")</h3> + + +<h3>I</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Are your rocks shelter for ships—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">have you sent galleys from your beach,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">are you graded—a safe crescent—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">where the tide lifts them back to port—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">are you full and sweet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">tempting the quiet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">to depart in their trading ships?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Nay, you are great, fierce, evil—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">you are the land-blight—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">you have tempted men<br /></span> +<span class="i0">but they perished on your cliffs.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Your lights are but dank shoals,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">slate and pebble and wet shells<br /></span> +<span class="i0">and seaweed fastened to the rocks.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It was evil—evil<br /></span> +<span class="i0">when they found you,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">when the quiet men looked at you—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">they sought a headland<br /></span> +<span class="i0">shaded with ledge of cliff<br /></span> +<span class="i0">from the wind-blast.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But you—you are unsheltered,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">cut with the weight of wind—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">you shudder when it strikes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">then lift, swelled with the blast—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">you sink as the tide sinks,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">you shrill under hail, and sound<br /></span> +<span class="i0">thunder when thunder sounds.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span> +<span class="i0">You are useless—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">when the tides swirl<br /></span> +<span class="i0">your boulders cut and wreck<br /></span> +<span class="i0">the staggering ships.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<h3>II</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">You are useless,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O grave, O beautiful,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">the landsmen tell it—I have heard—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">you are useless.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And the wind sounds with this<br /></span> +<span class="i0">and the sea<br /></span> +<span class="i0">where rollers shot with blue<br /></span> +<span class="i0">cut under deeper blue.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O but stay tender, enchanted<br /></span> +<span class="i0">where wave-lengths cut you<br /></span> +<span class="i0">apart from all the rest—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">for we have found you,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">we watch the splendour of you,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">we thread throat on throat of freesia<br /></span> +<span class="i0">for your shelf.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">You are not forgot,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O plunder of lilies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">honey is not more sweet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">than the salt stretch of your beach.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<h3>III</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Stay—stay—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">but terror has caught us now,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">we passed the men in ships,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">we dared deeper than the fisher-folk<br /></span> +<span class="i0">and you strike us with terror<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O bright shaft.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Flame passes under us<br /></span> +<span class="i0">and sparks that unknot the flesh,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">sorrow, splitting bone from bone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">splendour athwart our eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">and rifts in the splendour,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">sparks and scattered light.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Many warned of this,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">men said:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">there are wrecks on the fore-beach,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">wind will beat your ship,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">there is no shelter in that headland,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">it is useless waste, that edge,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">that front of rock—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">sea-gulls clang beyond the breakers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">none venture to that spot.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<h3>IV</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But hail—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">as the tide slackens,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">as the wind beats out,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">we hail this shore—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">we sing to you,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">spirit between the headlands<br /></span> +<span class="i0">and the further rocks.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Though oak-beams split,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">though boats and sea-men flounder,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">and the strait grind sand with sand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">and cut boulders to sand and drift—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">your eyes have pardoned our faults,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">your hands have touched us—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">you have leaned forward a little<br /></span> +<span class="i0">and the waves can never thrust us back<br /></span> +<span class="i0">from the splendour of your ragged coast.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span></p> +<h2>MID-DAY</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The light beats upon me.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I am startled—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">a split leaf crackles on the paved floor—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I am anguished—defeated.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A slight wind shakes the seed-pods—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">my thoughts are spent<br /></span> +<span class="i0">as the black seeds.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My thoughts tear me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I dread their fever.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I am scattered in its whirl.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I am scattered like<br /></span> +<span class="i0">the hot shrivelled seeds.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The shrivelled seeds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">are spilt on the path—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">the grass bends with dust,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">the grape slips<br /></span> +<span class="i0">under its crackled leaf:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">yet far beyond the spent seed-pods,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">and the blackened stalks of mint,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">the poplar is bright on the hill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">the poplar spreads out,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">deep-rooted among trees.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O poplar, you are great<br /></span> +<span class="i0">among the hill-stones,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">while I perish on the path<br /></span> +<span class="i0">among the crevices of the rocks.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span></p> +<h2>PURSUIT</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">What do I care<br /></span> +<span class="i0">that the stream is trampled,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">the sand on the stream-bank<br /></span> +<span class="i0">still holds the print of your foot:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">the heel is cut deep.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I see another mark<br /></span> +<span class="i0">on the grass ridge of the bank—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">it points toward the wood-path.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I have lost the third<br /></span> +<span class="i0">in the packed earth.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But here<br /></span> +<span class="i0">a wild-hyacinth stalk is snapped:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">the purple buds—half ripe—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">show deep purple<br /></span> +<span class="i0">where your heel pressed.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A patch of flowering grass,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">low, trailing—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">you brushed this:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">the green stems show yellow-green<br /></span> +<span class="i0">where you lifted—turned the earth-side<br /></span> +<span class="i0">to the light:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">this and a dead leaf-spine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">split across,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">show where you passed.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">You were swift, swift!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">here the forest ledge slopes—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">rain has furrowed the roots.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your hand caught at this;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">the root snapped under your weight.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I can almost follow the note<br /></span> +<span class="i0">where it touched this slender tree<br /></span> +<span class="i0">and the next answered—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">and the next.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And you climbed yet further!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">you stopped by the dwarf-cornel—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">whirled on your heels,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">doubled on your track.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">This is clear—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">you fell on the downward slope,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">you dragged a bruised thigh—you limped—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">you clutched this larch.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Did your head, bent back,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">search further—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">clear through the green leaf-moss<br /></span> +<span class="i0">of the larch branches?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Did you clutch,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">stammer with short breath and gasp:<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>wood-daemons grant life—</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>give life—I am almost lost.</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For some wood-daemon<br /></span> +<span class="i0">has lightened your steps.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I can find no trace of you<br /></span> +<span class="i0">in the larch-cones and the underbrush.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE CONTEST</h2> + + + +<h3>I</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Your stature is modelled<br /></span> +<span class="i0">with straight tool-edge:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">you are chiselled like rocks<br /></span> +<span class="i0">that are eaten into by the sea.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">With the turn and grasp of your wrist<br /></span> +<span class="i0">and the chords' stretch,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">there is a glint like worn brass.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The ridge of your breast is taut,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">and under each the shadow is sharp,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">and between the clenched muscles<br /></span> +<span class="i0">of your slender hips.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">From the circle of your cropped hair<br /></span> +<span class="i0">there is light,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">and about your male torse<br /></span> +<span class="i0">and the foot-arch and the straight ankle.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<h3>II</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">You stand rigid and mighty—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">granite and the ore in rocks;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">a great band clasps your forehead<br /></span> +<span class="i0">and its heavy twists of gold.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">You are white—a limb of cypress<br /></span> +<span class="i0">bent under a weight of snow.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">You are splendid,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">your arms are fire;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">you have entered the hill-straits—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">a sea treads upon the hill-slopes.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span></div></div> + + +<h3>III</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Myrtle is about your head,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">you have bent and caught the spray:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">each leaf is sharp<br /></span> +<span class="i0">against the lift and furrow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">of your bound hair.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The narcissus has copied the arch<br /></span> +<span class="i0">of your slight breast:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">your feet are citron-flowers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">your knees, cut from white-ash,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">your thighs are rock-cistus.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Your chin lifts straight<br /></span> +<span class="i0">from the hollow of your curved throat.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your shoulders are level—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">they have melted rare silver<br /></span> +<span class="i0">for their breadth.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span></p> +<h2>SEA LILY</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Reed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">slashed and torn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">but doubly rich—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">such great heads as yours<br /></span> +<span class="i0">drift upon temple-steps,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">but you are shattered<br /></span> +<span class="i0">in the wind.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Myrtle-bark<br /></span> +<span class="i0">is flecked from you,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">scales are dashed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">from your stem,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">sand cuts your petal,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">furrows it with hard edge,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">like flint<br /></span> +<span class="i0">on a bright stone.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yet though the whole wind<br /></span> +<span class="i0">slash at your bark,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">you are lifted up,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">aye—though it hiss<br /></span> +<span class="i0">to cover you with froth.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE WIND SLEEPERS</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Whiter<br /></span> +<span class="i0">than the crust<br /></span> +<span class="i0">left by the tide,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">we are stung by the hurled sand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">and the broken shells.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We no longer sleep<br /></span> +<span class="i0">in the wind—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">we awoke and fled<br /></span> +<span class="i0">through the city gate.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Tear—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">tear us an altar,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">tug at the cliff-boulders,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">pile them with the rough stones—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">we no longer<br /></span> +<span class="i0">sleep in the wind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">propitiate us.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Chant in a wail<br /></span> +<span class="i0">that never halts,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">pace a circle and pay tribute<br /></span> +<span class="i0">with a song.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When the roar of a dropped wave<br /></span> +<span class="i0">breaks into it,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">pour meted words<br /></span> +<span class="i0">of sea-hawks and gulls<br /></span> +<span class="i0">and sea-birds that cry<br /></span> +<span class="i0">discords.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE GIFT</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Instead of pearls—a wrought clasp—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">a bracelet—will you accept this?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">You know the script—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">you will start, wonder:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">what is left, what phrase<br /></span> +<span class="i0">after last night? This:<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The world is yet unspoiled for you,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">you wait, expectant—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">you are like the children<br /></span> +<span class="i0">who haunt your own steps<br /></span> +<span class="i0">for chance bits—a comb<br /></span> +<span class="i0">that may have slipped,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">a gold tassel, unravelled,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">plucked from your scarf,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">twirled by your slight fingers<br /></span> +<span class="i0">into the street—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">a flower dropped.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Do not think me unaware,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I who have snatched at you<br /></span> +<span class="i0">as the street-child clutched<br /></span> +<span class="i0">at the seed-pearls you spilt<br /></span> +<span class="i0">that hot day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">when your necklace snapped.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Do not dream that I speak<br /></span> +<span class="i0">as one defrauded of delight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">sick, shaken by each heart-beat<br /></span> +<span class="i0">or paralyzed, stretched at length,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">who gasps:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">these ripe pears<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span> +<span class="i0">are bitter to the taste,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">this spiced wine, poison, corrupt.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I cannot walk—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">who would walk?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Life is a scavenger's pit—I escape—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I only, rejecting it,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">lying here on this couch.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Your garden sloped to the beach,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">myrtle overran the paths,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">honey and amber flecked each leaf,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">the citron-lily head—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">one among many—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">weighed there, over-sweet.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The myrrh-hyacinth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">spread across low slopes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">violets streaked black ridges<br /></span> +<span class="i0">through the grass.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The house, too, was like this,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">over painted, over lovely—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">the world is like this.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Sleepless nights,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I remember the initiates,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">their gesture, their calm glance.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I have heard how in rapt thought,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">in vision, they speak<br /></span> +<span class="i0">with another race,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">more beautiful, more intense than this.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I could laugh—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">more beautiful, more intense?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Perhaps that other life<br /></span> +<span class="i0">is contrast always to this.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I reason:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I have lived as they<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span> +<span class="i0">in their inmost rites—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">they endure the tense nerves<br /></span> +<span class="i0">through the moment of ritual.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I endure from moment to moment—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">days pass all alike,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">tortured, intense.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">This I forgot last night:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">you must not be blamed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">it is not your fault;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">as a child, a flower—any flower<br /></span> +<span class="i0">tore my breast—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">meadow-chicory, a common grass-tip,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">a leaf shadow, a flower tint<br /></span> +<span class="i0">unexpected on a winter-branch.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I reason:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">another life holds what this lacks,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">a sea, unmoving, quiet—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">not forcing our strength<br /></span> +<span class="i0">to rise to it, beat on beat—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">stretch of sand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">no garden beyond, strangling<br /></span> +<span class="i0">with its myrrh-lilies—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">a hill, not set with black violets<br /></span> +<span class="i0">but stones, stones, bare rocks,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">dwarf-trees, twisted, no beauty<br /></span> +<span class="i0">to distract—to crowd<br /></span> +<span class="i0">madness upon madness.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Only a still place<br /></span> +<span class="i0">and perhaps some outer horror<br /></span> +<span class="i0">some hideousness to stamp beauty,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">a mark—no changing it now—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">on our hearts.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I send no string of pearls,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">no bracelet—accept this.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span></p> +<h2>EVENING</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The light passes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">from ridge to ridge,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">from flower to flower—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">the hypaticas, wide-spread<br /></span> +<span class="i0">under the light<br /></span> +<span class="i0">grow faint—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">the petals reach inward,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">the blue tips bend<br /></span> +<span class="i0">toward the bluer heart<br /></span> +<span class="i0">and the flowers are lost.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The cornel-buds are still white,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">but shadows dart<br /></span> +<span class="i0">from the cornel-roots—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">black creeps from root to root,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">each leaf<br /></span> +<span class="i0">cuts another leaf on the grass,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">shadow seeks shadow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">then both leaf<br /></span> +<span class="i0">and leaf-shadow are lost.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span></p> +<h2>SHELTERED GARDEN</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I have had enough.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I gasp for breath.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Every way ends, every road,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">every foot-path leads at last<br /></span> +<span class="i0">to the hill-crest—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">then you retrace your steps,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">or find the same slope on the other side,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">precipitate.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I have had enough—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">border-pinks, clove-pinks, wax-lilies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">herbs, sweet-cress.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O for some sharp swish of a branch—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">there is no scent of resin<br /></span> +<span class="i0">in this place,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">no taste of bark, of coarse weeds,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">aromatic, astringent—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">only border on border of scented pinks.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Have you seen fruit under cover<br /></span> +<span class="i0">that wanted light—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">pears wadded in cloth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">protected from the frost,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">melons, almost ripe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">smothered in straw?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Why not let the pears cling<br /></span> +<span class="i0">to the empty branch?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All your coaxing will only make<br /></span> +<span class="i0">a bitter fruit—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">let them cling, ripen of themselves,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span> +<span class="i0">test their own worth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">nipped, shrivelled by the frost,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">to fall at last but fair<br /></span> +<span class="i0">with a russet coat.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Or the melon—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">let it bleach yellow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">in the winter light,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">even tart to the taste—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">it is better to taste of frost—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">the exquisite frost—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">than of wadding and of dead grass.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For this beauty,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">beauty without strength,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">chokes out life.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I want wind to break,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">scatter these pink-stalks,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">snap off their spiced heads,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">fling them about with dead leaves—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">spread the paths with twigs,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">limbs broken off,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">trail great pine branches,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">hurled from some far wood<br /></span> +<span class="i0">right across the melon-patch,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">break pear and quince—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">leave half-trees, torn, twisted<br /></span> +<span class="i0">but showing the fight was valiant.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O to blot out this garden<br /></span> +<span class="i0">to forget, to find a new beauty<br /></span> +<span class="i0">in some terrible<br /></span> +<span class="i0">wind-tortured place.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span></p> +<h2>SEA POPPIES</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Amber husk<br /></span> +<span class="i0">fluted with gold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">fruit on the sand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">marked with a rich grain,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">treasure<br /></span> +<span class="i0">spilled near the shrub-pines<br /></span> +<span class="i0">to bleach on the boulders:<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">your stalk has caught root<br /></span> +<span class="i0">among wet pebbles<br /></span> +<span class="i0">and drift flung by the sea<br /></span> +<span class="i0">and grated shells<br /></span> +<span class="i0">and split conch-shells.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Beautiful, wide-spread,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">fire upon leaf,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">what meadow yields<br /></span> +<span class="i0">so fragrant a leaf<br /></span> +<span class="i0">as your bright leaf?<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span></p> +<h2>LOSS</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The sea called—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">you faced the estuary,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">you were drowned as the tide passed.—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I am glad of this—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">at least you have escaped.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The heavy sea-mist stifles me.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I choke with each breath—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">a curious peril, this—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">the gods have invented<br /></span> +<span class="i0">curious torture for us.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">One of us, pierced in the flank,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">dragged himself across the marsh,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">he tore at the bay-roots,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">lost hold on the crumbling bank—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Another crawled—too late—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">for shelter under the cliffs.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I am glad the tide swept you out,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O beloved,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">you of all this ghastly host<br /></span> +<span class="i0">alone untouched,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">your white flesh covered with salt<br /></span> +<span class="i0">as with myrrh and burnt iris.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We were hemmed in this place,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">so few of us, so few of us to fight<br /></span> +<span class="i0">their sure lances,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">the straight thrust—effortless<br /></span> +<span class="i0">with slight life of muscle and shoulder.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So straight—only we were left,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">the four of us—somehow shut off.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And the marsh dragged one back,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">and another perished under the cliff,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">and the tide swept you out.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Your feet cut steel on the paths,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I followed for the strength<br /></span> +<span class="i0">of life and grasp.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I have seen beautiful feet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">but never beauty welded with strength.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I marvelled at your height.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">You stood almost level<br /></span> +<span class="i0">with the lance-bearers<br /></span> +<span class="i0">and so slight.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And I wondered as you clasped<br /></span> +<span class="i0">your shoulder-strap<br /></span> +<span class="i0">at the strength of your wrist<br /></span> +<span class="i0">and the turn of your young fingers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">and the lift of your shorn locks,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">and the bronze<br /></span> +<span class="i0">of your sun-burnt neck.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">All of this,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">and the curious knee-cap,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">fitted above the wrought greaves,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">and the sharp muscles of your back<br /></span> +<span class="i0">which the tunic could not cover—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">the outline<br /></span> +<span class="i0">no garment could deface.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I wonder if you knew how I watched,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">how I crowded before the spearsmen—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">but the gods wanted you,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">the gods wanted you back.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span></p> +<h2>HUNTRESS</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Come, blunt your spear with us,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">our pace is hot<br /></span> +<span class="i0">and our bare heels<br /></span> +<span class="i0">in the heel-prints—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">we stand tense—do you see—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">are you already beaten<br /></span> +<span class="i0">by the chase?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We lead the pace<br /></span> +<span class="i0">for the wind on the hills,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">the low hill is spattered<br /></span> +<span class="i0">with loose earth—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">our feet cut into the crust<br /></span> +<span class="i0">as with spears.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We climbed the ploughed land,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">dragged the seed from the clefts,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">broke the clods with our heels,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">whirled with a parched cry<br /></span> +<span class="i0">into the woods:<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Can you come,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>can you come,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>can you follow the hound trail,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>can you trample the hot froth?</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Spring up—sway forward—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">follow the quickest one,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">aye, though you leave the trail<br /></span> +<span class="i0">and drop exhausted at our feet.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span></p> +<h2>GARDEN</h2> + + +<h3>I</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">You are clear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O rose, cut in rock,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">hard as the descent of hail.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I could scrape the colour<br /></span> +<span class="i0">from the petals<br /></span> +<span class="i0">like spilt dye from a rock.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">If I could break you<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I could break a tree.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">If I could stir<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I could break a tree—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I could break you.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<h3>II</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O wind, rend open the heat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">cut apart the heat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">rend it to tatters.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Fruit cannot drop<br /></span> +<span class="i0">through this thick air—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">fruit cannot fall into heat<br /></span> +<span class="i0">that presses up and blunts<br /></span> +<span class="i0">the points of pears<br /></span> +<span class="i0">and rounds the grapes.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Cut the heat—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">plough through it,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">turning it on either side<br /></span> +<span class="i0">of your path.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span></p> +<h2>SEA VIOLET</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The white violet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">is scented on its stalk,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">the sea-violet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">fragile as agate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">lies fronting all the wind<br /></span> +<span class="i0">among the torn shells<br /></span> +<span class="i0">on the sand-bank.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The greater blue violets<br /></span> +<span class="i0">flutter on the hill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">but who would change for these<br /></span> +<span class="i0">who would change for these<br /></span> +<span class="i0">one root of the white sort?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Violet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">your grasp is frail<br /></span> +<span class="i0">on the edge of the sand-hill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">but you catch the light—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">frost, a star edges with its fire.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE CLIFF TEMPLE</h2> + + +<h3>I</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Great, bright portal,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">shelf of rock,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">rocks fitted in long ledges,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">rocks fitted to dark, to silver granite,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">to lighter rock—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">clean cut, white against white.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">High—high—and no hill-goat<br /></span> +<span class="i0">tramples—no mountain-sheep<br /></span> +<span class="i0">has set foot on your fine grass;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">you lift, you are the world-edge,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">pillar for the sky-arch.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The world heaved—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">we are next to the sky:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">over us, sea-hawks shout,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">gulls sweep past—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">the terrible breakers are silent<br /></span> +<span class="i0">from this place.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Below us, on the rock-edge,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">where earth is caught in the fissures<br /></span> +<span class="i0">of the jagged cliff,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">a small tree stiffens in the gale,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">it bends—but its white flowers<br /></span> +<span class="i0">are fragrant at this height.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And under and under,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">the wind booms:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">it whistles, it thunders,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">it growls—it presses the grass<br /></span> +<span class="i0">beneath its great feet.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span></div></div> + + +<h3>II</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I said:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">for ever and for ever, must I follow you<br /></span> +<span class="i0">through the stones?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I catch at you—you lurch:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">you are quicker than my hand-grasp.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I wondered at you.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I shouted—dear—mysterious—beautiful—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">white myrtle-flesh.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I was splintered and torn:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">the hill-path mounted<br /></span> +<span class="i0">swifter than my feet.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Could a daemon avenge this hurt,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I would cry to him—could a ghost,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I would shout—O evil,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">follow this god,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">taunt him with his evil and his vice.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<h3>III</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Shall I hurl myself from here,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">shall I leap and be nearer you?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall I drop, beloved, beloved,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">ankle against ankle?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Would you pity me, O white breast?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">If I woke, would you pity me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">would our eyes meet?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Have you heard,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">do you know how I climbed this rock?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My breath caught, I lurched forward—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">stumbled in the ground-myrtle.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Have you heard, O god seated on the cliff,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">how far toward the ledges of your house,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">how far I had to walk?<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<h3>IV</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Over me the wind swirls.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I have stood on your portal<br /></span> +<span class="i0">and I know—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">you are further than this,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">still further on another cliff.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span></p> +<h2>ORCHARD</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I saw the first pear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">as it fell—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">the honey-seeking, golden-banded,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">the yellow swarm<br /></span> +<span class="i0">was not more fleet than I,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(spare us from loveliness)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">and I fell prostrate<br /></span> +<span class="i0">crying:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">you have flayed us<br /></span> +<span class="i0">with your blossoms,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">spare us the beauty<br /></span> +<span class="i0">of fruit-trees.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The honey-seeking<br /></span> +<span class="i0">paused not,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">the air thundered their song,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">and I alone was prostrate.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O rough-hewn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">god of the orchard,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I bring you an offering—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">do you, alone unbeautiful,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">son of the god,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">spare us from loveliness:<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">these fallen hazel-nuts,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">stripped late of their green sheaths,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">grapes, red-purple,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">their berries<br /></span> +<span class="i0">dripping with wine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">pomegranates already broken,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">and shrunken figs<br /></span> +<span class="i0">and quinces untouched,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I bring you as offering.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span></p> +<h2>SEA GODS</h2> + + +<h3>I</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They say there is no hope—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">sand—drift—rocks—rubble of the sea—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">the broken hulk of a ship,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">hung with shreds of rope,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">pallid under the cracked pitch.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They say there is no hope<br /></span> +<span class="i0">to conjure you—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">no whip of the tongue to anger you—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">no hate of words<br /></span> +<span class="i0">you must rise to refute.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They say you are twisted by the sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">you are cut apart<br /></span> +<span class="i0">by wave-break upon wave-break,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">that you are misshapen by the sharp rocks,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">broken by the rasp and after-rasp.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">That you are cut, torn, mangled,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">torn by the stress and beat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">no stronger than the strips of sand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">along your ragged beach.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<h3>II</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But we bring violets,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">great masses—single, sweet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">wood-violets, stream-violets,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">violets from a wet marsh.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Violets in clumps from hills,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">tufts with earth at the roots,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">violets tugged from rocks,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">blue violets, moss, cliff, river-violets.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yellow violets' gold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">burnt with a rare tint—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">violets like red ash<br /></span> +<span class="i0">among tufts of grass.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We bring deep-purple<br /></span> +<span class="i0">bird-foot violets.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We bring the hyacinth-violet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">sweet, bare, chill to the touch—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">and violets whiter than the in-rush<br /></span> +<span class="i0">of your own white surf.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<h3>III</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For you will come,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">you will yet haunt men in ships,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">you will trail across the fringe of strait<br /></span> +<span class="i0">and circle the jagged rocks.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">You will trail across the rocks<br /></span> +<span class="i0">and wash them with your salt,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">you will curl between sand-hills—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">you will thunder along the cliff—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">break—retreat—get fresh strength—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">gather and pour weight upon the beach.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">You will draw back,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">and the ripple on the sand-shelf<br /></span> +<span class="i0">will be witness of your track.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span> +<span class="i0">O privet-white, you will paint<br /></span> +<span class="i0">the lintel of wet sand with froth.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">You will bring myrrh-bark<br /></span> +<span class="i0">and drift laurel-wood from hot coasts!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">when you hurl high—high—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">we will answer with a shout.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For you will come,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">you will come,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">you will answer our taut hearts,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">you will break the lie of men's thoughts,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">and cherish and shelter us.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span></p> +<h2>ACON</h2> + + +<h3>I</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Bear me to Dictaeus,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">and to the steep slopes;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">to the river Erymanthus.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I choose spray of dittany,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">cyperum, frail of flower,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">buds of myrrh,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">all-healing herbs,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">close pressed in calathes.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For she lies panting,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">drawing sharp breath,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">broken with harsh sobs,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">she, Hyella,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">whom no god pities.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<h3>II</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Dryads<br /></span> +<span class="i0">haunting the groves,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">nereids<br /></span> +<span class="i0">who dwell in wet caves,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">for all the white leaves of olive-branch,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">and early roses,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">and ivy wreaths, woven gold berries,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">which she once brought to your altars,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">bear now ripe fruits from Arcadia,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">and Assyrian wine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">to shatter her fever.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The light of her face falls from its flower,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">as a hyacinth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">hidden in a far valley,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">perishes upon burnt grass.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Pales,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">bring gifts,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">bring your Phoenician stuffs,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">and do you, fleet-footed nymphs,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">bring offerings,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Illyrian iris,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">and a branch of shrub,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">and frail-headed poppies.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span></p> +<h2>NIGHT</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The night has cut<br /></span> +<span class="i0">each from each<br /></span> +<span class="i0">and curled the petals<br /></span> +<span class="i0">back from the stalk<br /></span> +<span class="i0">and under it in crisp rows;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">under at an unfaltering pace,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">under till the rinds break,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">back till each bent leaf<br /></span> +<span class="i0">is parted from its stalk;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">under at a grave pace,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">under till the leaves<br /></span> +<span class="i0">are bent back<br /></span> +<span class="i0">till they drop upon earth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">back till they are all broken.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">you take the petals<br /></span> +<span class="i0">of the roses in your hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">but leave the stark core<br /></span> +<span class="i0">of the rose<br /></span> +<span class="i0">to perish on the branch.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span></p> +<h2>PRISONERS</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It is strange that I should want<br /></span> +<span class="i0">this sight of your face—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">we have had so much:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">at any moment now I may pass,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">stand near the gate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">do not speak—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">only reach if you can, your face<br /></span> +<span class="i0">half-fronting the passage<br /></span> +<span class="i0">toward the light.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Fate—God sends this as a mark,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">a last token that we are not forgot,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">lost in this turmoil,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">about to be crushed out,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">burned or stamped out<br /></span> +<span class="i0">at best with sudden death.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The spearsman who brings this<br /></span> +<span class="i0">will ask for the gold clasp<br /></span> +<span class="i0">you wear under your coat.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I gave all I had left.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Press close to the portal,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">my gate will soon clang<br /></span> +<span class="i0">and your fellow wretches<br /></span> +<span class="i0">will crowd to the entrance—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">be first at the gate.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ah beloved, do not speak.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I write this in great haste—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">do not speak,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">you may yet be released.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span> +<span class="i0">I am glad enough to depart<br /></span> +<span class="i0">though I have never tasted life<br /></span> +<span class="i0">as in these last weeks.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It is a strange life,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">patterned in fire and letters<br /></span> +<span class="i0">on the prison pavement.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If I glance up<br /></span> +<span class="i0">it is written on the walls,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">it is cut on the floor,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">it is patterned across<br /></span> +<span class="i0">the slope of the roof.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I am weak—weak—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">last night if the guard<br /></span> +<span class="i0">had left the gate unlocked<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I could not have ventured to escape,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">but one thought serves me now<br /></span> +<span class="i0">with strength.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">As I pass down the corridor<br /></span> +<span class="i0">past desperate faces at each cell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">your eyes and my eyes may meet.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">You will be dark, unkempt,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">but I pray for one glimpse of your face—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">why do I want this?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I who have seen you at the banquet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">each flower of your hyacinth-circlet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">white against your hair.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Why do I want this,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">when even last night<br /></span> +<span class="i0">you startled me from sleep?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You stood against the dark rock,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">you grasped an elder staff.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So many nights<br /></span> +<span class="i0">you have distracted me from terror.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Once you lifted a spear-flower.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I remember how you stooped<br /></span> +<span class="i0">to gather it—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">and it flamed, the leaf and shoot<br /></span> +<span class="i0">and the threads, yellow, yellow—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">sheer till they burnt<br /></span> +<span class="i0">to red-purple in the cup.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">As I pass your cell-door<br /></span> +<span class="i0">do not speak.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I was first on the list—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They may forget you tried to shield me<br /></span> +<span class="i0">as the horsemen passed.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span></p> +<h2>STORM</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">You crash over the trees,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">you crack the live branch—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">the branch is white,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">the green crushed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">each leaf is rent like split wood.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">You burden the trees<br /></span> +<span class="i0">with black drops,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">you swirl and crash—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">you have broken off a weighted leaf<br /></span> +<span class="i0">in the wind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">it is hurled out,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">whirls up and sinks,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">a green stone.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span></p> +<h2>SEA IRIS</h2> + + +<h3>I</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Weed, moss-weed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">root tangled in sand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">sea-iris, brittle flower,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">one petal like a shell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">is broken,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">and you print a shadow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">like a thin twig.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Fortunate one,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">scented and stinging,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">rigid myrrh-bud,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">camphor-flower,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">sweet and salt—you are wind<br /></span> +<span class="i0">in our nostrils.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<h3>II</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Do the murex-fishers<br /></span> +<span class="i0">drench you as they pass?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Do your roots drag up colour<br /></span> +<span class="i0">from the sand?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have they slipped gold under you—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">rivets of gold?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Band of iris-flowers<br /></span> +<span class="i0">above the waves,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">you are painted blue,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">painted like a fresh prow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">stained among the salt weeds.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span></p> +<h2>HERMES OF THE WAYS</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The hard sand breaks,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">and the grains of it<br /></span> +<span class="i0">are clear as wine.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Far off over the leagues of it,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">the wind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">playing on the wide shore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">piles little ridges,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">and the great waves<br /></span> +<span class="i0">break over it.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But more than the many-foamed ways<br /></span> +<span class="i0">of the sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I know him<br /></span> +<span class="i0">of the triple path-ways,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hermes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">who awaits.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Dubious,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">facing three ways,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">welcoming wayfarers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">he whom the sea-orchard<br /></span> +<span class="i0">shelters from the west,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">from the east<br /></span> +<span class="i0">weathers sea-wind;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">fronts the great dunes.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Wind rushes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">over the dunes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">and the coarse, salt-crusted grass<br /></span> +<span class="i0">answers.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Heu,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">it whips round my ankles!<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span></div></div> + + +<h3>II</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Small is<br /></span> +<span class="i0">this white stream,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">flowing below ground<br /></span> +<span class="i0">from the poplar-shaded hill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">but the water is sweet.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Apples on the small trees<br /></span> +<span class="i0">are hard,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">too small,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">too late ripened<br /></span> +<span class="i0">by a desperate sun<br /></span> +<span class="i0">that struggles through sea-mist.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The boughs of the trees<br /></span> +<span class="i0">are twisted<br /></span> +<span class="i0">by many bafflings;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">twisted are<br /></span> +<span class="i0">the small-leafed boughs.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But the shadow of them<br /></span> +<span class="i0">is not the shadow of the mast head<br /></span> +<span class="i0">nor of the torn sails.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Hermes, Hermes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">the great sea foamed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">gnashed its teeth about me;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">but you have waited,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">were sea-grass tangles with<br /></span> +<span class="i0">shore-grass.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span></p> +<h2>PEAR TREE</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Silver dust<br /></span> +<span class="i0">lifted from the earth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">higher than my arms reach,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">you have mounted,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O silver,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">higher than my arms reach<br /></span> +<span class="i0">you front us with great mass;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">no flower ever opened<br /></span> +<span class="i0">so staunch a white leaf,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">no flower ever parted silver<br /></span> +<span class="i0">from such rare silver;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O white pear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">your flower-tufts<br /></span> +<span class="i0">thick on the branch<br /></span> +<span class="i0">bring summer and ripe fruits<br /></span> +<span class="i0">in their purple hearts.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span></p> +<h2>CITIES</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Can we believe—by an effort<br /></span> +<span class="i0">comfort our hearts:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">it is not waste all this,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">not placed here in disgust,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">street after street,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">each patterned alike,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">no grace to lighten<br /></span> +<span class="i0">a single house of the hundred<br /></span> +<span class="i0">crowded into one garden-space.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Crowded—can we believe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">not in utter disgust,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">in ironical play—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">but the maker of cities grew faint<br /></span> +<span class="i0">with the beauty of temple<br /></span> +<span class="i0">and space before temple,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">arch upon perfect arch,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">of pillars and corridors that led out<br /></span> +<span class="i0">to strange court-yards and porches<br /></span> +<span class="i0">where sun-light stamped<br /></span> +<span class="i0">hyacinth-shadows<br /></span> +<span class="i0">black on the pavement.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">That the maker of cities grew faint<br /></span> +<span class="i0">with the splendour of palaces,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">paused while the incense-flowers<br /></span> +<span class="i0">from the incense-trees<br /></span> +<span class="i0">dropped on the marble-walk,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">thought anew, fashioned this—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">street after street alike.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For alas,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">he had crowded the city so full<br /></span> +<span class="i0">that men could not grasp beauty,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">beauty was over them,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">through them, about them,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">no crevice unpacked with the honey,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">rare, measureless.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So he built a new city,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">ah can we believe, not ironically<br /></span> +<span class="i0">but for new splendour<br /></span> +<span class="i0">constructed new people<br /></span> +<span class="i0">to lift through slow growth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">to a beauty unrivalled yet—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">and created new cells,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">hideous first, hideous now—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">spread larve across them,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">not honey but seething life.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And in these dark cells,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">packed street after street,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">souls live, hideous yet—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O disfigured, defaced,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">with no trace of the beauty<br /></span> +<span class="i0">men once held so light.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Can we think a few old cells<br /></span> +<span class="i0">were left—we are left—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">grains of honey,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">old dust of stray pollen<br /></span> +<span class="i0">dull on our torn wings,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">we are left to recall the old streets?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Is our task the less sweet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">that the larve still sleep in their cells?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or crawl out to attack our frail strength:<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span> +<span class="i0">You are useless. We live.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We await great events.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We are spread through this earth.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We protect our strong race.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You are useless.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your cell takes the place<br /></span> +<span class="i0">of our young future strength.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Though they sleep or wake to torment<br /></span> +<span class="i0">and wish to displace our old cells—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">thin rare gold—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">that their larve grow fat—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">is our task the less sweet?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Though we wander about,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">find no honey of flowers in this waste,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">is our task the less sweet—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">who recall the old splendour,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">await the new beauty of cities?<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span></div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>The city is peopled</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>with spirits, not ghosts, O my love:</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Though they crowded between</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>and usurped the kiss of my mouth</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>their breath was your gift,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>their beauty, your life.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p class='center'><span class='smcap'>chiswick press: charles whittingham and co.<br /> +tooks court, chancery lane, london.</span></p> + +<div class='transnote'> +<a name="tnote" id="tnote"></a><h3>Transcriber's Notes</h3> + +<p>Page <a href="#Page_10">10</a>: torse <i>sic</i></p> + +<p>Page <a href="#Page_11">11</a>: lower case amended to title case ("your shoulders +are level" amended to "Your shoulders are level").</p> + +<p>Page <a href="#Page_14">14</a>: tassle amended to tassel</p> + +<p>Page <a href="#Page_15">15</a>: scavanger's amended to scavenger's</p> + +<p>Page <a href="#Page_16">16</a>: chickory amended to chicory</p> + +<p>Page <a href="#Page_26">26</a>: fragant amended to fragrant</p> + +<p>Page <a href="#Page_30">30</a>: lower case amended to title case ("they say there +is no hope" amended to "They say there is no hope").</p> + +<p>Page <a href="#Page_46">46</a>: larve <i>sic</i></p> +</div> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Sea Garden, by Hilda Doolittle + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SEA GARDEN *** + +***** This file should be named 28665-h.htm or 28665-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/8/6/6/28665/ + +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.) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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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 + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SEA GARDEN *** + +***** This file should be named 28665.txt or 28665.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/8/6/6/28665/ + +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.) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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