The ground beneath her feet ( U2) (to be sung by Orpheus)
All my life, I worshipped her
Her golden voice, her beauty's beat
How she made us feel,
how she made me real
And the ground beneath her feet
And the ground beneath her feet
And now I can't be sure of anything
Black is white and cold is heat
For what I worshipped stole my love away
It was the ground beneath her feet
It was the ground beneath her feet
Go lightly down your darkened way
Go lightly underground
I'll be down there in another day
I won't rest until you're found
Let me love you, let me rescue you
Let me bring you where two roads meet
Oh come back above
Where there is only love
Only love...
(My oh my) x10
Let me love you true, let me rescue you
Let me bring you to where two roads meet
Let me love you true, let me rescue you.
Let me bring you to where two roads meet
(My oh my) x6
Stage directions:Eurydice looks forlorn and sings with a tone of bitter resignation.
Eurydice" by H.D.
Study Web Text created by William Beebe
Virginia Commonwealth University
I
So you have swept me back,
I who have walked with the live souls
above the earth,
I who have slept among the live flowers
at last;
so for your arrogance
and your ruthlessness
I am swept back
where dead lichens drip
dead cinders upon moss of ash;
so for your arrogance
I am broken at last,
I who had lived unconscious,
who was almost forgot;
if you had let me wait
I had grown from listlessness into peace,
if you had let me rest with the dead,
I had forgot you
and the past.
II
Here only flame upon flame
and black among the red sparks,
streaks of black and light
grown colorless
why did you turn back,
that hell should be reinhabited
of myself thus
swept into nothingness?
why did you turn back?
why did you glance back?
why did you hesitate for that moment?
why did you bend your face
caught with the flame of the upper earth,
above my face?
what was it that crossed my face
with the light from yours
and your glance?
what was it you saw in my face?
the light of your own face,
the fire of your own presence?
what had my face to offer
but reflex of the earth,
hyacinth colour
caught from the raw fissure in the rock
where the light struck,
and the colour of azure crocuses,
and the bright surface of gold crocuses
and of the wind-flower,
swift in its veins as lightning
and as white.
III
Saffron from the fringe of the earth,
wild saffron that has bent
over the sharp edge of earth,
all the flowers that cut through the earth,
all, all the flowers are lost;
everything is lost,
everything is crossed with black,
black upon black
and worse than black,
this colourless light.
IV
Fringe upon fringe
of blue crocuses,
crocuses, walled against blue of themselves,
blue of that upper earth.
blue of the depth upon depth of flowers,
lost;
flowers, if I could have taken once my breath of them,
enough of them,
more than earth,
even than of the upper earth,
had passed with me
beneath the earth;
If I could have caught up from the earth,
the whole of the flowers of the earth,
if once I could have breathed into myself
the very golden crocuses
and the red
and the very golden hearts of the first saffron,
the whole of the golden mass,
the whole of the great fragrance,
I could have dared the loss.
V
So for your arrogance
and your ruthlessness
I have lost the earth
and the flowers of the earth,
and the live souls above the earth,
and you who passed across the light
and reached
ruthless;
you who have your own light,
who are to yourself a presence,
who need no presence;
yet for all your arrogance
and your glance,
I tell you this:
such loss is no loss,
such terror, such coils and strands and pitfalls
of blackness
such terror
is no loss;
hell is no worse than your earth
above the earth,
hell is no worse,
no, nor your flowers
nor your veins of light
nor your presence,
a loss;
my hell is no worse than yours
though you pass among the flowers and speak
with the spirits above the earth.
VI
Against the black
I have more fervour
than you in all the splendour of that place,
against the blackness
and the stark grey
I have more light;
and the flowers,
if I should tell you,
you would turn from your own fit paths
toward hell,
turn again and glance back
and I would sink into a place even more terrible than this.
VII
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.
(1916)
Reference: Sword, Helen, "Orpheus and Eurydice in the Twentieth Century: Lawrence, H.D. and the Poetics of the Turn," Twentieth Century Literature, 35:4 (Winter 1989), 407-28v
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Another reading by Dorothea Goodrich
