Oread
Whirl up, sea —
whirl your pointed pines,
splash your great pines
on our rocks,
hurl your green over us,
cover us with your pools of fir.
H. D.
The Pool
Are you alive?
I touch you.
You quiver like a sea-fish.
I cover you with my net.
What are you – banded one?
H. D.
the flowering of the rod
i go where i love and where i am loved,
into the snow;
i go to the things i love
with no thought of duty or pity
H.D.
bold poems 