"The Poet's Corner..."

Adonis

Hilda Doolittle (HD)

Each of us like you 

has died once, 

has passed through drift of wood-leaves, 

cracked and bent 

and tortured and unbent 

in the winter-frost, 

the burnt into gold points, 

lighted afresh, 

crisp amber, scales of gold-leaf, 

gold turned and re-welded 

in the sun; 

each of us like you 

has died once, 

each of us has crossed an old wood-path 

and found the winter-leaves 

so golden in the sun-fire 

that even the live wood-flowers 

were dark. 

Not the gold on the temple-front 

where you stand 

is as gold as this, 

not the gold that fastens your sandals, 

nor thee gold reft 

through your chiselled locks, 

is as gold as this last year's leaf, 

not all the gold hammered and wrought 

and beaten 

on your lover's face. 

brow and bare breast 

is as golden as this: 

each of us like you 

has died once, 

each of us like you 

stands apart, like you 

fit to be worshipped.