...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 me
after your embrace?
your touch,
your limbs are more terrible
to do me hurt.
What can death mar in me
that you have not?
~Hilda Doolittle
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