Hilda Doolittle - At Ithaca

Over and back, <br />the long waves crawl <br />and track the sand with foam; <br />night darkens, and the sea <br />takes on that desperate tone <br />of dark that wives put on <br />when all their love is done. <br /> <br />Over and back, <br />the tangled thread falls slack, <br />over and up and on; <br />over and all is sewn; <br />now while I bind the end, <br />I wish some fiery friend <br />would sweep impetuously <br />these fingers from the loom. <br /> <br />My weary thoughts <br />play traitor to my soul, <br />just as the toil is over; <br />swift while the woof is whole, <br />turn now, my spirit, swift, <br />and tear the pattern there, <br />the flowers so deftly wrought, <br />the borders of sea blue, <br />the sea-blue coast of home. <br /> <br />The web was over-fair, <br />that web of pictures there, <br />enchantments that I thought <br />he had, that I had lost; <br />weaving his happiness <br />within the stitching frame, <br />weaving his fire and frame, <br />I thought my work was done, <br />I prayed that only one <br />of those that I had spurned <br />might stoop and conquer this <br />long waiting with a kiss. <br /> <br />But each time that I see <br />my work so beautifully <br />inwoven and would keep <br />the picture and the whole, <br />Athene steels my soul. <br />Slanting across my brain, <br />I see as shafts of rain <br />his chariot and his shafts, <br />I see the arrows fall, <br />I see the lord who moves <br />like Hector lord of love, <br />I see him matched with fair <br />bright rivals, and I see <br />those lesser rivals flee.<br /><br />Hilda Doolittle<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/at-ithaca/