Unpromised,
No bounds being set.
Flaked out and come unpromised,
The tree being life-divine,
Fearing nothing, life-blissful at the core
Within iron and earth.
Knots of pink, fish-silvery
In heaven, in blue, blue heaven,
Soundless, bliss-full, wide-rayed, honey-bodied,
Red at the core,
Red at the core,
Knotted in heaven upon the fine light.
Open,
Open,
Five times wide open,
Six times wide open,
And given, and perfect;
And red at the core with the last sore-heartedness,
Sore-hearted-looking.
Fontana Vecchia.
PURPLE ANEMONES
Who gave us flowers?
Heaven? The white God?
Nonsense!
Up out of hell,
From Hades;
Infernal Dis!
Jesus the god of flowers——?
Not he.
Or sun-bright Apollo, him so musical?
Him neither.
Who then?
Say who.
Say it—and it is Pluto,
Dis,
The dark one,
Proserpine’s master.
Who contradicts——?
When she broke forth from below,
Flowers came, hell-hounds on her heels.
Dis, the dark, the jealous god, the husband,
Flower-sumptuous-blooded.