Skip to main content
By H. D.

I


You are clear

O rose, cut in rock,

hard as the descent of hail.


I could scrape the colour   

from the petals

like spilt dye from a rock.


If I could break you   

I could break a tree.


If I could stir

I could break a tree—

I could break you.


II


O wind, rend open the heat,   

cut apart the heat,   

rend it to tatters.


Fruit cannot drop   

through this thick air—

fruit cannot fall into heat

that presses up and blunts

the points of pears   

and rounds the grapes.


Cut the heat—

plough through it,

turning it on either side   

of your path.


Source: Twentieth-Century American Poetry (2004)

Poet Bio

In a career that spanned five decades, H.D. (Hilda Doolittle) was given many labels: Imagist, feminist, mythologist, and mystic. Her abiding concern, though, was to explore and represent her personal experience as a poet and a woman. In addition to poetry, she published novels, short stories, and two epic poems on war: Trilogy and Helen in Egypt.

More By This Poet

More Poems about Activities

Browse poems about Activities

More Poems about Nature

Browse poems about Nature