#Americans #Imagist #Women
White, O white face— from disenchanted days wither alike dark rose and fiery bays: no gift within our hands,
Can we believe—by an effort comfort our hearts: it is not waste all this, not placed here in disgust, street after street,
YOU are as gold as the half—ripe grain that merges to gold again, as white as the white rain that beats through
O wind, rend open the heat, cut apart the heat, rend it to tatters. Fruit cannot drop through this thick air—
I saw the first pear as it fell— the honey—seeking, golden—banded, the yellow swarm was not more fleet than I,
I first tasted under Apollo’s lip… love and love sweetness, I, Evadne; my hair is made of crisp violets or hyacinth which the wind combs b…
Where the slow river meets the tide, a red swan lifts red wings and darker beak, and underneath the purple down
Silver dust lifted from the earth, higher than my arms reach, you have mounted. O silver,
Amber husk fluted with gold, fruit on the sand marked with a rich grain, treasure
Hymen, O Hymen king, what bitter thing is this? what shaft, tearing my heart? what scar, what light, what fire searing my eye—balls and my eyes w…
From citron—bower be her bed, cut from branch of tree a—flower, fashioned for her maidenhead. From Lydian apples, sweet of hue, cut the width of board and lathe,
Over and back, the long waves crawl and track the sand with foam; night darkens, and the sea takes on that desperate tone
The white violet is scented on its stalk, the sea—violet fragile as agate, lies fronting all the wind
Are you alive? I touch you. You quiver like a sea—fish. I cover you with my net. What are you —banded one?
Crash on crash of the sea, straining to wreck men; sea—boards… raging against the world, furious, stay at last, for against your fur… and your mad fight,