Explore "Evadne" by Hilda Doolittle on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
I first tasted under Apollo's 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 mate 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.