THE CONTEST by H.D.

THE CONTEST

I

Your stature is modelled

with straight tool-edge :

you are chiseled like rocks

that are eaten into by the sea

 

With the turn and grasp of your wrist

and the chords' stretch,

there is a glint like worn brass.

 

The ridge of your breast is taut,

and under each the shadow is sharp,

and between the clenched muscles

of your slender hips.

From the circle of your cropped hair

There is light,

And about your male torso

And the foot-arch and the straight ankle.

 

II

You stand rigid and mighty –

granite and the ore in rocks;

a great band clasps your forehead

and its heavy twists of gold.

 

You are white – a limb of cypress

bent under a weight of snow.

 

You are splendid,

your arms are fire;

you have entered the hill-straits –

a sea treads upon the hill-slopes.

 

III

Myrtle is about your head,

you have bent and caught the spray:

each leaf is sharp

against the lift and furrow

of your bound hair.

 

The narcissus has copied the arch

of your slight breast:

your feet are citron-flowers,

your knees, cut from white-ash,

your thighs are rock cistus.

 

Your chin lifts straight

from the hollow of your curved throat.

your shoulder are level –

they have melted rare silver

for their breadth.

H.D.

With special thanks to French Anonymous