Hilda (Doolittle) Aldington
YOUR stature is modelled
with straight tool-edge:
you are chiselled like rocks
that are eaten into by the sea.
The ridge of your breast is taut,
and under each the shadow is sharp,
and between the clenched muscles
of your slender hips.
You stand rigid and mighty—
granite and the ore in rocks;
a great band clasps your forehead
and its heavy twists of gold.
You are splendid,
your arms are fire;
you have entered the hill-straits-—
a sea treads upon the hill-slopes.
Myrtle is about your head,
you have bent and caught the spray:
each leaf is sharp
against the lift and furrow
of your bound hair.
The narcissus has copied the arch
of your slight breast:
your feet are citron-flowers,
your knees, cut from white-ash,
your thighs are rock-cistus.
Your chin lifts straight
from the hollow of your curved throat.
your shoulders are level—
they have melted rare silver
for their breadth.