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Whirl up, sea—
whirl your pointed pines,
splash your great pines
on our rocks,
hurl your green over us,
cover us with your pools of fir.

 

 

 

H.D. Imagiste

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This entry was posted on Sunday, October 21st, 2018 at 15:01 and is filed under H.D., Poesia, Poesia Inglesa. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.

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