Explore "The Garden (H. D.)" by Hilda Doolittle on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
You are clear, / O rose, cut in rock, / hard as the descent of hail.
I could scrape the colour / from the petal, / 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 sideways.
Fruit can not drop / through this thick air: / fruit can not 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.