Evening by H.D.

Evening

BY H. D.

The light passes

from ridge to ridge,

from flower to flower—

the hepaticas, wide-spread

under the light

grow faint—

the petals reach inward,

the blue tips bend

toward the bluer heart

and the flowers are lost.

The cornel-buds are still white,

but shadows dart

from the cornel-roots—

black creeps from root to root,

each leaf

cuts another leaf on the grass,

shadow seeks shadow,

then both leaf

and leaf-shadow are lost.

Descriptive, but, reading the words it seems more. Lovely. A link is here to read more. http://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/h-d

Garden by H.D.

Garden

BY H. D.

I

You are clear

O rose, cut in rock,

hard as the descent of hail.

I could scrape the colour   

from the petals

like spilt dye from a rock.

If I could break you   

I could break a tree.

If I could stir

I could break a tree—

I could break you.

II

O wind, rend open the heat,   

cut apart the heat,   

rend it to tatters.

Fruit cannot drop   

through this thick air—

fruit cannot fall into heat

that presses up and blunts

the points of pears   

and rounds the grapes.

Cut the heat—

plough through it,

turning it on either side   

of your path.

A master of imagery. A link to read more about this poet is here. http://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/h-d