Orchard
Hilda Doolittle
I saw the first pear As it fell— The honey-seeking, golden-banded, The yellow swarm Was not more fleet than I, (Spare us from loveliness) And I fell prostrate Crying: You have flayed us With your blossoms, Spare us the beauty Of fruit-trees. The honey-seeking Paused not, The air thundered their song, And I alone was prostrate. O rough-hewn God of the orchard, I bring you an offering— Do you, alone unbeautiful, Son of the god, Spare us from loveliness: These fallen hazel-nuts, Stripped late of their green sheaths, Grapes, red-purple, Their berries Dripping with wine, Pomegranates already broken, And shrunken figs And quinces untouched, I bring you as offering.
