Fragment Sixty-Eight

Heliodora (1924)

… even in the house of Hades.

—Sappho

1

I envy you your chance of death,how I envy you this.I am more covetous of himeven than of your glance,I wish more from his presencethough he torture me in a grasp,terrible, intense.

Though he clasp me in an embracethat is set against my willand rack me with his measure,effortless yet full of strength,and slay mein that most horrible contest,still, how I envy you your chance.

Through he pierce me—imperious—iron—fever—dust—though beauty is slainwhen I perish,I envy you death.What is beauty to me?has she not slain me enough,have I not cried in agony of love,birth, hate,in pride crushed?

What is left after this?what can death loose in meafter your embrace?your touch,

your limbs are more terribleto do me hurt.What can death mar in methat you have not?

2

What can death send methat you have not?you gathered violets,you spoke:“your hair is not less black,nor less fragrant.nor in your eyes is less light,your hair is not less sweetwith purple in the lift of lock;“why were those slight wordsand the violets you gatheredof such worth?

How I envy you death;what could death bring,more black, more set with sparksto slay, to affright,than the memory of those first violets,the chance lift of your voice,the chance blinding frenzyas you bent?

3

So the goddess has slain mefor your chance smileand my scarf unfoldingas you stooped to it;so she trapped mewith upward sweep of your armas you lifted the veil,and the swift smile and selfless.

Could I have known?nay, spare pity,though I break,crushed under the goddess’ hate,though I fall beaten at last,so high have I thrust my glanceup into her presence.

Do not pity me, spare that,but how I envy youyour chance of death.

from Heliodora (1924)