Adonis

 by Hilda Doolittle

The mysteries remain,

I keep the same

cycle of seed-time

and of sun and rain;

Demeter in the grass,

I multiply,

renew and bless

Bacchus in the vine;

I hold the law,

I keep the mysteries true,

the first of these

to name the living, dead;

I am the wine and bread.

I keep the law,

I hold the mysteries true,

I am the vine,

the branches, you

and you. 

Adonis 

1. 

Each of us like you 

has died once, 

has passed through drift of wood-leaves, 

cracked and bent 

and tortured and unbent 

in the winter-frost, 

the burnt into gold points, 

lighted afresh, 

crisp amber, scales of gold-leaf, 

gold turned and re-welded 

in the sun; 

each of us like you 

has died once, 

each of us has crossed an old wood-path 

and found the winter-leaves 

so golden in the sun-fire 

that even the live wood-flowers 

were dark. 

2. 

Not the gold on the temple-front 

where you stand 

is as gold as this, 

not the gold that fastens your sandals, 

nor thee gold reft 

through your chiselled locks, 

is as gold as this last year's leaf, 

not all the gold hammered and wrought 

and beaten 

on your lover's face. 

brow and bare breast 

is as golden as this: 

each of us like you 

has died once, 

each of us like you 

stands apart, like you 

fit to be worshipped. 

Acon 

Bear me to Dictaeus,

and to the steep slopes;

to the river Erymanthus. 

I choose spray of dittany,

cyperum, frail of flower,

buds of myrrh,

all-healing herbs,

close pressed in calathes. 

For she lies panting,

drawing sharp breath,

broken with harsh sobs.

she, Hyella,

whom no god pities.