All Poems
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Cantico del Sole
© Ezra Pound
The thought of what America would be like
If the Classics had a wide circulation
Troubles my sleep,
The thought of what America,
Francesca
© Ezra Pound
You came in out of the night
And there were flowers in your hand,
Now you will come out of a confusion of people,
Out of a turmoil of speech about you.
Grace Before Song
© Ezra Pound
Lord God of heaven that with mercy dight
Th'alternate prayer wheel of the night and light
Eternal hath to thee, and in whose sight
Our days as rain drops in the sea surge fall,
Statement of Being
© Ezra Pound
I am a grave poetic hen
That lays poetic eggs
And to enhance my temperament
A little quiet begs.
Villonaud for This Yule
© Ezra Pound
Where are the joys my heart had won?
(Saturn and Mars to Zeus drawn near!)
Where are athe lips mine lay upon,
Aye! where are the glances feat and clear
That bade my heart his valor don?
Hugh Selwyn Mauberly (Part I)
© Ezra Pound
For three years, out of key with his time,
He strove to resuscitate the dead art
Of poetry; to maintain "the sublime"
In the old sense. Wrong from the start --
Tame Cat
© Ezra Pound
It rests me to be among beautiful women
Why should one always lie about such matters?
I repeat:
It rests me to converse with beautiful women
Even though we talk nothing but nonsense,
In the Old Age of the Soul
© Ezra Pound
I do not choose to dream; there cometh on me
Some strange old lust for deeds.
As to the nerveless hand of some old warrior
The sword-hilt or the war-worn wonted helmet
Ballad for Gloom
© Ezra Pound
I have loved my God as a child at heart
That seeketh deep bosoms for rest,
I have loved my God as a maid to man
But lo, this thing is best:
The Plunge
© Ezra Pound
I would bathe myself in strangeness:
These comforts heaped upon me, smother me!
I burn, I scald so for the new,
New friends, new faces,
Song in the Manner of Housman
© Ezra Pound
O woe, woe,
People are born and die,
We also shall be dead pretty soon
Therefore let us act as if we were
dead already.
Taking Leave of a Friend
© Ezra Pound
Blue mountains to the north of the walls,
White river winding about them;
Here we must make separation
And go out through a thousand miles of dead grass.
Song of the Bowmen of Shu
© Ezra Pound
Here we are, picking the first fern-shoots
And saying: When shall we get back to our country?
Here we are because we have the Ken-nin for our foemen,
We have no comfort because of these Mongols.
Nicotine
© Ezra Pound
Hymn to the Dope
Goddess of the murmuring courts,
Nicotine, my Nicotine,
Houri of the mystic sports,
Dance Figure
© Ezra Pound
White as an almond are thy shoulders;
As new almonds stripped from the husk.
They guard thee not with eunuchs;
Not with bars of copper.
The Bath-Tub
© Ezra Pound
As a bathtub lined with white porcelain,
When the hot water gives out or goes tepid,
So is the slow cooling of our chivalrous passion,
O my much praised but-not-altogether-satisfactory lady.
And the days are not full enough
© Ezra Pound
And the days are not full enough
And the nights are not full enough
And life slips by like a field mouse
Not shaking the grass
Masks
© Ezra Pound
Old singers half-forgetful of their tunes,
Old painters color-blind come back once more,
Old poets skill-less in the wind-heart runes,
Old wizards lacking in their wonder-lore:
The Seeing Eye
© Ezra Pound
Said Tsin-Tsu:
It is only in small dogs and the young
That we find minute observation
The Seafarer
© Ezra Pound
(From the early Anglo-Saxon text) May I for my own self song's truth reckon,
Journey's jargon, how I in harsh days
Hardship endured oft.
Bitter breast-cares have I abided,
