Hymen
2.5/5
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Reviews for Hymen
3 ratings1 review
- Rating: 2 out of 5 stars2/5I do like H.D., but not this collection. The writing is derivative of Keats and the Romantics at their gushingest. The classical references and dramatic monologues of mythical figures do nothing new. And every poet should be allowed only one "ah" and one "O" in their careers. H.D. uses up a century's worth here.
Book preview
Hymen - H. D. (Hilda Doolittle)
The Project Gutenberg EBook of Hymen, by Hilda Doolittle
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
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Title: Hymen
Author: Hilda Doolittle
Release Date: May 2, 2009 [EBook #28666]
Language: English
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HYMEN ***
Produced by Meredith Bach and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was
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Transcriber's Note
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected in this text. For a complete list, please see the bottom of this document.
HYMEN
By
H. D.
NEW YORK
HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY
1921
FOR BRYHER AND PERDITA
They said:
she is high and far and blind
in her high pride,
but now that my head is bowed
in sorrow, I find
she is most kind.
We have taken life, they said,
blithely, not groped in a mist
for things that are not—
are if you will, but bloodless—
why ask happiness of the dead?
and my heart bled.
Ah, could they know
how violets throw strange fire,
red and purple and gold,
how they glow
gold and purple and red
where her feet tread.
Acknowledgements are due to the editors of the following periodicals in which certain of these poems have appeared: Poetry (Chicago), The Dial, Contact and The Bookman (New York), The Nation, The Sphere, The Anglo-French Review and The Egoist (London).
CONTENTS
HYMEN
As from a temple service, tall and dignified, with slow pace, each a queen, the sixteen matrons from the temple of Hera pass before the curtain—a dark purple hung between Ionic columns—of the porch or open hall of a palace. Their hair is bound as the marble hair of the temple Hera. Each wears a crown or diadem of gold.
They sing—the music is temple music, deep, simple, chanting notes:
From the closed garden
Where our feet pace
Back and forth each day,
This gladiolus white,
This red, this purple spray—
Gladiolus tall with dignity
As yours, lady—we lay
Before your feet and pray:
Of all the blessings—
Youth, joy, ecstasy—
May one gift last
(As the tall gladiolus may
Outlast the wind-flower,
Winter-rose or rose),
One gift above,
Encompassing all those;
For her, for him,
For all within these palace walls,
Beyond the feast,
Beyond the cry of Hymen and the torch,
Beyond the night and music
Echoing through the porch till day.
The music, with its deep chanting notes, dies away. The curtain hangs motionless in