Eurydice
Hilda Doolittle
Why did you turn back, that hell should be reinhabited of myself thus swept into nothingness? Why did you turn? why did you glance back? So you have swept me back— I who could have walked with the live souls above the earth. I who could have slept among the live flowers at last. so for your arrogance and your ruthlessness I am swept back where dead lichens drip dead cinders among moss of ash. What was it that crossed my face with the light from yours and your glance? What was it you saw in my face— the light of your own face, the fire of your own presence?
