To H.D. / Frances Gregg

To H.D.


You were all loveliness to me— Sea-mist, the spring, The blossoming of trees, The wind, Giver-of-Dreams. Then— A wistful silence guarded you about, As in the spring Iris and anemone are guarded. And like a flame Your beauty burned and wrought me Into a bell, Whose single note Was echo of your silence. Now— You sing. And I, muted, Yet vibrate throughout, Stirred by your hymn’s immemorial burden; “Spare us from loveliness!”