O Hymen king,
lord, greatest,
power, might,
look for my
face is dark,
burnt with your
light,
your fire, O
Hymen lord;
is there none
left
can equal me
in ecstasy,
desire?
is there none
left
can bear with
me
the kiss of
your white fire?
is there not
one,
Phrygian or
frenzied Greek,
poet, song-swept,
or bard,
one meet to
take from me
this bitter
power of song,
one fit to
speak, Hymen,
your praises,
lord?
May I not wed
as you have
wed?
may it not
break, beauty,
from out my
hands, my head, my feet?
may Love not
lie beside me
till his heat
burn me to ash?
may he not
comfort me, then,
spent of all
that fire and heat,
still,
ashen-white and cool
as the wet
laurels,
white, before
your feet
step on the
mountain-slope,
before your
fiery hand
lift up the
mantle
covering flower
and land,
as a man lifts,
O Hymen, from
his bride,
(cowering with
woman eyes,) the veil?
O Hymen lord,
be kind.
from:
Cassandra, by
HD (Hilda Doolittle), Collected Poems
1912-1944, New Directions Publishing Corp. 1982
