Helen

Hilda Doolittle

All Greece hates
the still eyes in the white face,
the lustre of the olives
where she stands,
and the white hands.

All Greece reviles
the wan face when she smiles,
hating it deeper still
when it grows wan and white,
remembering past enchantments
and past ills.

Greece sees unmoved,
God’s daughter, born of love,
the beauty of cool feet
and slenderest knees,
could love indeed the maid,
only if she were laid,
white ash amid funeral cypresses.

Next 10 Poems

• Hilda Doolittle : Helen In Egypt
• Hilda Doolittle : Leda
• Hilda Doolittle : Let Zeus
• Hilda Doolittle : Mid-day
• Hilda Doolittle : Mysteries Remain
• Hilda Doolittle : Never More Will The Wind
• Hilda Doolittle : Orchard
• Hilda Doolittle : Oread
• Hilda Doolittle : Pear Tree
• Hilda Doolittle : Sea Poppies

Previous 10 Poems

• Hilda Doolittle : Heat
• Hilda Doolittle : Garden
• Hilda Doolittle : Fragment Sixty-eight
• Hilda Doolittle : Eurydice
• Hilda Doolittle : Cities
• Hilda Doolittle : Cassandra
• Hilda Doolittle : At Baia
• John Donne : Woman's Constancy
• John Donne : Witchcraft By A Picture
• John Donne : To His Mistress Going To Bed