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Silver dust lifted from the earth, higher than my arms reach, you have mounted. O silver, higher than my arms reach you front us with great mass; no flower ever opened so staunch a white leaf, no flower ever parted silver from such rare silver; O white pear, your flower-tufts, thick on the branch, bring summer and ripe fruits in their purple hearts.
This poem is in the public domain.
Light takes new attribute
and yet his old
glory
enchants;
not this,
not this, they say,
lord as he was of the hieratic dance,
of poetry
and majesty
and pomp,
master of shrines and gateways
What they did,
they did for Dionysos,
for ecstasy’s sake:
We flung against their gods,
invincible, clear hate;
we fought;
frantic, we flung the last
imperious, desperate shaft