Explore "Mid-day" by Hilda Doolittle on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
The light beats upon me. / I am startled-- / A split leaf crackles on the paved floor-- / I am anguished--defeated.
A slight wind shakes the seed-pods. / My thoughts are spent / As the black seeds. / My thoughts tear me. / I dread their fever-- / I am scattered in its whirl. / I am scattered like / The hot shrivelled seeds.
The shrivelled seeds / Are spilt on the path. / The grass bends with dust. / The grape slips / Under its crackled leaf: / Yet far beyond the spent seed-pods, / And the blackened stalks of mint, / The poplar is bright on the hill, / The poplar spreads out, / Deep-rooted among trees.
O poplar, you are great / Among the hill-stones, / While I perish on the path / Among the crevices of the rocks.