You are as gold as the half-ripe grain that merges to gold again, as white as the white rain that beats through the half-opened flowers of the great flower tufts thick on the black limbs of an Illyrian apple bough. Can honey distill such fragrance As your bright hair— For your face is as fair as rain, yet as rain that lies clear on white honey-comb, lends radiance to the white wax, so your hair on your brow casts light for a shadow.
From Hymen, 1921. From The Imagist Poem: Modern Poetry in Miniature: An Anthology of the Finest Imagist Poems, edited by William Pratt and published by Story Line Press. © 2001 by the Estate of Hilda Doolittle. Posted with permission of Story Line Press. All rights reserved.