Παρασκευή, 14 Ιανουαρίου 2011

THE WIND SLEEPERS (1916) - H.D.


Whiter
than the crust

left by the tide,

we are stung by the hurled sand

and the broken shells.

We no longer sleep
in the wind -

we awoke and fled

through the city gate.

Tear -
tear us an altar,
tug at the cliff-boulders,
pile them with the rough stones -
we no longer
sleep in the wind,
propitiate us.


Chant in a wail
that never halts,
pace a circle and pay tribute

with a song.

When the roar of a dropped wave

breaks into it,

pour meted words

of sea-hawks and gulls

and sea-birds that cry

discords.

H.D.

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