Hilda Doolittle Quotes - Page 4

Lovers may come and go, there was the memory of blood, the low call.

My eye-balls are glass, my limbs marble, my face fixed in its marble mask.

There must be real gods see, the painted gods how fair!

Maid of the luminous grey-eyes, Mistress of honey and marble implacable white thighs and Goddess, chaste daughter of Zeus.

Fall the deep curtains, delicate the weave, fair the thread.

The stallion and his mare, unbridled, with arrow-pattern, are worked on. the blue cloth before the door of religion and inspiration.

Take what the old-church found in Mithra's tomb, candle and script and bell, take what the new-church spat upon and broke and shattered.

(Those women whom the distaff no longer claims nor spun cloth) driven made, mad, mad by Bacchus.

I myself have seen the floating ships And nothing will ever be the same The shouts, The harrowing voices within the house. I stand apart with an army: My mind is graven with ships.

Until it seems the whole city will be covered with gold pollen shaken from the bell-towers, lilies plundered with the weight of massive bees . . .

Love, why have you sought the horde of spearsmen, why the tent Achilles pitched beside the river-ford?

In my garden the winds have beaten the ripe lilies; in my garden, the salt has wilted the first flakes of young narcissus.

Who dreams of a son, save one, childless, having no bright face to flatter its own, who dreams of a son?