Orion Dead by Hilda Doolittle — Read

(Artemis speaks.)

The cornel-trees / uplift from the furrows, / the roots at their bases, / strike lower through the barley-sprays.

So arise and face me.

I am poisoned with the rage of song.

I once pierced the flesh / of the wild deer, / now I am afraid to touch / the blue and the gold-veined hyacinths?

I will tear the full flowers / and the little heads / of the grape-hyacinths, / I will strip the life from the bulb / until the ivory layers / lie like narcissus petals / on the black earth.

Arise, / lest I bend an ash-tree / into a taut bow, / and slay -- and tear / all the roots from the earth.

The cornel-wood blazes / and strikes through the barley-sprays / but I have lost heart for this.

I break a staff, / I break the tough branch.

I know no light in the woods.

I have lost pace with the wind.