Hold me, toast-studded petals, Hang low from each sense, A bemused hand of reeds, Dew and damask flowers— In each curve and wrinkle, To a fold convincing me Of the sunshine’s grey-off summer— Let me hold the straining back of spring’s expanded merriment— Breathe within the stillness of flickering stars, And the ethereal thread unravel—
Winds brushing aromatic veins, Heavy in scent— Let us hush the buttressed bloom! Come my sapphires, my souls will lift away, While this disappearance ripens— And I shall smile, in this beloved spring!

• Hilda Doolittle