Hilda Doolittles Eurydike:
At least I have the flowers of myself,
and my thoughts, no god
can take that;
I have the fervour of myself for a presence
and my own spirit for light;
and my spirit with its loss
knows this;
though small against the black,
small against the formless rocks,
hell must break Before I am lost;
before I am lost
hell must open like a red rose
for the dead to pass.
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