At Baia - Poem by Hilda Doolittle
I should have thought
in a dream you would have brought
some lovely, perilous thing,
orchids piled in a great sheath,
as who would say (in a dream),
"I send you this,
who left the blue veins
of your throat unkissed."
Why was it that your hands
(that never took mine),
your hands that I could see
drift over the orchid-heads
your hands, so fragile, sure to lift
so gently, the fragile flower-stuff--
ah, ah, how was it
You never sent (in a dream)
the very form, the very scent,
not heavy, not sensuous,
of orchids, piled in a great sheath,
and folded underneath on a bright scroll,
"Flower sent to flower;
for white hands, the lesser white,
less lovely of flower-leaf,"
"Lover to lover, no kiss,
no touch, but forever and ever this."
Comments about At Baia by Hilda Doolittle
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.