THE CLIFF TEMPLE by H. D.

Editor's note

H. D. begins by portraying the cliff face as an architectural threshold — a "portal" — which transforms raw geology into a sacred space. The layered descriptions of the rocks (dark, silver, lighter, white) create a visual sense of the cliff rising higher, and the concluding phrase "clean cut, white against white" imparts a purity that feels nearly blinding. This isn’t merely a cliff; it's already a temple before we’re explicitly informed of it.

Editor's note

The repeated "High--high--" echoes the exhausting struggle of climbing. The lack of animals — no goats, no sheep — suggests this height transcends ordinary nature, creating a distinct realm. The cliff transforms into a cosmic pillar supporting the sky, elevating the scene from mere landscape to myth.

Editor's note

The abrupt switch to "we" is noticeable — it indicates that the speaker is not alone or is talking to someone else. Being "next to the sky" while sea-hawks cry above brings about a mix of dizziness and excitement. The point that "the terrible breakers are silent / from this place" is important: being up high turns chaos into calm, hinting that the cliff provides a divine perspective that alters everything.

Editor's note

A small tree clings to the cliff and flowers even in the midst of the gale, creating one of the poem's most quietly powerful images. It bends but doesn’t break, and its flowers still carry a lovely fragrance at this extreme height. H. D. uses this image to show that beauty and life can endure even in the toughest situations — reflecting the speaker's own relentless pursuit.

Editor's note

The closing stanza of Part I is all about sound. The wind is given human traits with "great feet," pushing the grass down. The repetition of "under and under" along with the action words — booms, whistles, thunders, growls — makes the wind feel alive, almost like a deity. This creates the divine atmosphere that Part II will clarify.

Editor's note

Part II shatters the tranquil scene and plunges us into an intense, personal struggle. The speaker is pursuing someone — a "you" who seems quicker, hard to grasp, almost otherworldly. The phrases "dear--mysterious--beautiful-- / white myrtle-flesh" reveal this figure as both human and divine, blending the erotic with the sacred. The speaker's frustration is palpable: she feels "splintered and torn" by the pursuit, and the path up the hill races ahead of her steps.

Editor's note

The speaker's desire takes a darker turn here. She refers to the pursued figure as a "god," yet longs for a daemon — a lesser spirit — to torment and punish him. This reflects the language of Greek myth, where gods can hurt mortals, leaving them with no option but to seek help from other supernatural beings. The anger is genuine, but so is the underlying sense of helplessness.

Editor's note

Part III begins with the poem's most perilous moment. The speaker considers leaping off the cliff to bridge the distance between her and the beloved. The question "Would you pity me, O white breast?" creates a feeling of closeness while also suggesting indifference. The speaker goes on to depict the physical struggle of the ascent — gasping for breath, tripping through the myrtle — as if she's presenting her pain as evidence of her devotion to a deity who might not even be paying attention.

Editor's note

Part IV is just five lines long and feels like a door slamming shut. The speaker has reached the pinnacle — the portal, the temple — only to face a harsh truth: the divine figure is absent. He is "further than this, / still further on another cliff." The journey has no conclusion. The cliff that seemed like a destination is merely another barrier. H. D. leaves the speaker exposed to the wind, holding onto that realization and nothing more.