At first glance, it reads like a love poem turned inside out. The speaker is not raging; she is promising a hatred that is precise, beautiful, and controlled. It will strike like “a dart of singing steel” through quiet evening air, or stand as solemn and untouchable as pine trees against the sky. Hating becomes a kind of game played with “cool hands / And slim fingers,” suggesting both intimacy and detachment. The person she addresses will feel the lonely splendor of the pine and be wounded by the fire still burning in her eyes. Memory itself will press on their chest until they understand what her hatred means. The mood is cold, elegant, and slightly ceremonial—more haunting and deliberate than explosive, as if hatred has been shaped into something sharp and unforgettable.
Hatred — Summary
I shall hate you Like a dart of singing steel Shot through still air At even-tide. Or solemnly As pines are sober When they stand etched Against the sky. Hating you shall be a game Played with cool hands And slim fingers. Your heart will yearn For the lonely splendor Of the pine tree; While rekindled fires In my eyes Shall wound you like swift arrows. Memory will lay its hands Upon your breast And you will understand My hatred.