Explore "Song" by Hilda Doolittle on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
You are as gold / as the half-ripe grain / that merges to gold again, / as white as the white rain / that beats through / the half-opened flowers / of the great flower tufts / thick on the black limbs / of an Illyrian apple bough.
Can honey distill such fragrance / as your bright hair -- / for your face is as fair as rain, / yet as rain that lies clear / on white honey-comb, / lends radiance to the white wax, / so your hair on your brow / casts light for a shadow.