Oread

Whirl up, sea— whirl your pointed pines, Splash your great pines on our rocks, Hurl your green over us, Cover us with your pools of fir.

We lift the oars, while the sea— tumbles to the heights, Whirls the brown pines and the ground shafts of the purple rocked pines, while we lift our wings to the spray of the green-coasted stone.

• HD Hilda Doolittle