Top 88 Quotes & Sayings by Hilda Doolittle - Page 2
Explore popular quotes and sayings by a novelist Hilda Doolittle.
Last updated on December 22, 2024.
Fall the deep curtains,
delicate the weave,
fair the thread.
The laying of fish on the embers, the taste of the fish, the feel of the texture of bread, the round and the half-loaf, the grain of a petal, the rain-bow and the rain.
The quivering
of Psyche's butterflies.
Lovers may come and go,
there was the memory of blood,
the low call.
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.
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.
I knew the poor,
I knew the hideous death they die,
when famine lays its bleak hand on the door;
I knew the rich,
sated with merriment,
who yet are sad.
Who dreams of a son,
save one,
childless, having no bright
face to flatter its own,
who dreams of a son?
(Those women whom the distaff
no longer claims
nor spun cloth)
driven made,
mad,
mad
by Bacchus.
The Greeks have snatched up their spears.
They have pointed the helms of their ships
Toward the bulwarks of Troy.
Long hours
trail in their purple
and long years are lost
in just this moment
while our souls are near,
our mouths separate.
My eye-balls are glass,
my limbs marble,
my face fixed
in its marble mask.
Light threatens, is active, is gone,
so it is with a song.
Love that I bear
within my breast
how is my armour melted
how my heart
O happy, happy each
man whom predestined fate
leads to the holy rite
of hill and mountain worship.
Ardent
yet chill and formal,
how I ache
to tempt a chisel
as a sculptor.
There must be real gods
see, the painted gods
how fair!
I testify
to rainbow feathers, to the span of heaven
and walls of colour,
the colonnades of jasper.
When the shingles hissed
in the rain incendiary,
other values were revealed to us
War wreaked on you his hideous ravishment;
We, we alone, Nereids inviolate,
Remain to weep, with the sea-birds to chant:
Corinth is lost, Corinth is desolate.
A slight wind shakes the seed-pods
my thoughts are spent
as the black seeds.
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.
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 . . .
Maid
of the luminous grey-eyes,
Mistress
of honey and marble implacable white thighs
and Goddess,
chaste daughter of Zeus.
The stallion and his mare,
unbridled, with arrow-pattern,
are worked on.
the blue cloth
before the door
of religion and inspiration.
No man will be present in those mysteries,
yet all men will kneel,
no man will be potent,
important,
yet all men will feel
what it is to be a woman.
Love has no charm
when Love is swept to earth:
you'd make a lop-winged god,
frozen and contrite,
of god up-darting,
winged for passionate flight.
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