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Home  »  Poetry: A Magazine of Verse  »  W. Bryher

Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.

Eos

W. Bryher

From “Hellenics”

YOUR face is the flush of Eos:

You are dawn.

Your face is Greece.

Under your lifted arm

There is lavender to kiss;

Sea-lavender, spiced with salt.

Before the fierce cyclamen wine has burnt my lips,

I kiss your limbs, wild followers of Artemis.

Your eyes break sleep!

I touch the pansy set below your heart;

Each kiss a star

That fades upon your body, which is dawn.

April scent of your throat,

O spiced flowers of your shoulders,

Will you shrink from the lion, my heart?