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Collected Poems 1912-1944 (H.D.) by Hilda Doolittle
Bear me to Dictaeus,
and to the steep slopes;
to the river Erymanthus.

I choose spray of dittany,
cyperum, frail of flower,
buds of myrrh,
all-healing herbs,
close pressed in calathes.

For she lies panting,
drawing sharp breath,
broken with harsh sobs.
she, Hyella,
whom no god pities.
Book: Collected Poems 1912-1944 (H.D.) by Hilda Doolittle
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