Bear me to Dictaeus,
and to the steep slopes;
to the river Erymanthus.
I choose spray of dittany,
cyperum, frail of flower,
buds of myrrh,
all-healing herbs,
close pressed in calathes.
For she lies panting,
drawing sharp breath,
broken with harsh sobs.
she, Hyella,
whom no god pities.
Acon
Hilda Doolittle
(1)
Poem topics: breath, flower, god, river, sharp, broken, choose, steep, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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