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Poem by Hilda Doolittle


Evadne


I first tasted under Apollos lips,
love and love sweetness,
I, Evadne;
my hair is made of crisp violets
or hyacinth which the wind combs back
across some rock shelf;
I, Evadne,
was made of the god of light.

His hair was crisp to my mouth,
as the flower of the crocus,
across my cheek,
cool as the silver-cress
on Erotos bank;
between my chin and throat,
his mouth slipped over and over.

Still between my arm and shoulder,
I feel the brush of his hair,
and my hands keep the gold they took,
as they wandered over and over,
that great arm-full of yellow flowers.



Hilda Doolittle


Hilda Doolittle's other poems:
  1. Nossis
  2. We Two
  3. Lais
  4. Heliodora
  5. Centaur Song


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