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Title: At Baia
Author: H. D. [
More Titles by D.]
I should have thought
in a dream you would have brought
some lovely, perilous thing,
orchids piled in a great sheath,
as who would say (in a dream)
I send you this,
who left the blue veins
of your throat unkissed.
Why was it that your hands
(that never took mine)
your hands that I could see
drift over the orchid heads
so carefully,
your hands, so fragile, sure to lift
so gently, the fragile flower stuff--
ah, ah, how was it
You never sent (in a dream)
the very form, the very scent,
not heavy, not sensuous,
but perilous--perilous--
of orchids, piled in a great sheath,
and folded underneath on a bright scroll
some word:
Flower sent to flower;
for white hands, the lesser white,
less lovely of flower leaf,
or
Lover to lover, no kiss,
no touch, but forever and ever this.
[The end]
(Hilda Doolittle) H. D.'s poem: At Baia
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