Leda

Sidney Nolan

Leda and the Swan

Leda

Where the slow river

meets the tide,

a red swan lifts red wings

and darker beak,

and underneath the purple down

of his soft breast

uncurls his coral feet.
Through the deep purple

of the dying heat

of sun and mist,

the level ray of sun-beam

has caressed

the lily with dark breast,

and flecked with richer gold

its golden crest.
Where the slow lifting

of the tide,

floats into the river

and slowly drifts

among the reeds,

and lifts the yellow flags,

he floats

where tide and river meet.
Ah kingly kiss--

no more regret

nor old deep memories

to mar the bliss;

where the low sedge is thick,

the gold day-lily

outspreads and rests

beneath soft fluttering

of red swan wings

and the warm quivering

of the red swan's breast.

~ H. D. (Hilda Doolittle) ~

Helen

Gustave Moreau
Helen of Troy at the Ramparts

Henri Fantin-Latour

Helen

Helen

All Greece hates

the still eyes in the white face,

the lustre as of olives

where she stands,

and the white hands.

All Greece reviles

the wan face when she smiles,

hating it deeper still

when it grows wan and white,

remembering past enchantments

and past ills.

Greece sees unmoved,

God's daughter, born of love,

the beauty of cool feet

and slenderest knees,

could love indeed the maid,

only if she were laid,

white ash amid funereal cypresses.

~ H. D. (Hilda Doolittle) ~