Leda
The wind is a crier of seas, he stirs his wings, through the wolves sky. Who is this— who cuts the thread, who catches night’s birds? And starlight is a twined chain, by fate. Let me be. I am sleep’s eternal nymph.
O let men boast their strength; from me, as the heavens fall and stars flare, I will bloom from their tears, gathering beauty, like the petals, tomorrow’s heart. —H.D.
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