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,

Can we believe—by an effort comfort our hearts: it is not waste all this, not placed here in disgust, street after street,

Thou art come at length More beautiful Than any cool god In a chamber under Lycia’s far coast,

Whirl up, sea— whirl your pointed pines, splash your great pines on our rocks, hurl your green over us,

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

Bear me to Dictaeus, and to the steep slopes; to the river Erymanthus. I choose spray of dittany, cyperum, frail of flower,

Weed, moss—weed, root tangled in sand, sea—iris, brittle flower, one petal like a shell is broken,

YOU are as gold as the half—ripe grain that merges to gold again, as white as the white rain that beats through

Where the slow river meets the tide, a red swan lifts red wings and darker beak, and underneath the purple down

Over and back, the long waves crawl and track the sand with foam; night darkens, and the sea takes on that desperate tone

Stars wheel in purple, yours is no… as Hesperus, nor yet so great a st… as bright Aldeboran or Sirius, nor yet the stained and brilliant… stars turn in purple, glorious to…

NOR skin nor hide nor fleece Shall cover you, Nor curtain of crimson nor fine Shelter of cedar—wood be over you, Nor the fir—tree

So you have swept me back, I who could have walked with the l… above the earth, I who could have slept among the l… at last;

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…