Can you follow the hounds,

Though you leave the trail?

You lift; you are the world-edge.

Do not speak;

You burden the trees.

You are useless.

I thought I would be the last;

Now am I the power.

If I should tell you,

What note shall we pitch?

I will tear the full flowers

White, silver and the dark-hammered in.

*this poem is a cento made up of lines from The Collected Poems of H.D.