Hilda Doolittle





Moonrise

Will you glimmer on the sea? 
Will you fling your spear-head 
On the shore?
What note shall we pitch?
We have a song,
On the bank we share our arrows; 
The loosed string tells our note:

O flight,
Bring her swiftly to our song. 
She is great,
We measure her by the pine-trees.