Poems by Ezra Pound A Girl The tree has entered my hands, The sap has ascended my arms, The tree has grown in my breast- Downward, The branches grow out of me,like arms. Tree you are, Moss you are, You are violets with wind above them. A child-so high-you are, And all this is folly to the world. In a Station of the Metro The apparition of these faces in the crowd; petals on a wet,black bough. And the Days Are Not Full Enough 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 A Pact I make a pact with you,Walt Whitman- I have detested you long enough. I come to you as a grown child Who has had a pig-headed father, I am old enough now to make friends It was you that broke the new wood, Now is a time for carving. We have one sap and one root- Let there be commerce between us Alba As cool as the pale wet leaves
1 Poems by Ezra Pound A Girl The tree has entered my hands, The sap has ascended my arms, The tree has grown in my breast - Downward, The branches grow out of me, like arms. Tree you are, Moss you are, You are violets with wind above them. A child - so high - you are, And all this is folly to the world. In a Station of the Metro The apparition of these faces in the crowd; petals on a wet, black bough. And the Days Are Not Full Enough 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 A Pact I make a pact with you, Walt Whitman - I have detested you long enough. I come to you as a grown child Who has had a pig-headed father; I am old enough now to make friends. It was you that broke the new wood, Now is a time for carving. We have one sap and one root - Let there be commerce between us. Alba As cool as the pale wet leaves
of lily-of-the-valley She lay beside me in the dawn. An Immorality Sing we for love and idleness, Naught else is worth the having. Though I have been in many a land, There is naught else in living. And I would rather have my sweet, Though rose-leaves die of grieving, Than do high deeds in Hungary To pass all men's believing. Ione,Dead the Long Year Empty are the ways, Empty are the ways of this land And the flowers Bend over with heavy heads. They bend in vain. Empty are the ways of this land Where lone Walked once,and now does not walk But seems like a person just gone. A Virginal No,no!Go from me.I have left her lately. I will not spoil my sheath with lesser brightness. For my surrounding air hath a new lightness, Slight are her arms,yet they have bound me straitly And left me cloaked as with a gauze of aether; As with sweet leaves;as with subtle clearness. Oh,I have picked up magic in her nearness To sheathe me half in half the things that sheathe her. No,no!Go from me.I have still the flavour, Soft as spring wind that's come from birchen bowers. Green come the shoots,aye April in the branches, As winter's wound with her sleight hand she staunches, Hath of the trees a likeness of the savour:
2 of lily-of-the-valley She lay beside me in the dawn. An Immorality Sing we for love and idleness, Naught else is worth the having. Though I have been in many a land, There is naught else in living. And I would rather have my sweet, Though rose-leaves die of grieving, Than do high deeds in Hungary To pass all men's believing. Ione, Dead the Long Year Empty are the ways, Empty are the ways of this land And the flowers Bend over with heavy heads. They bend in vain. Empty are the ways of this land Where Ione Walked once, and now does not walk But seems like a person just gone. A Virginal No, no! Go from me. I have left her lately. I will not spoil my sheath with lesser brightness, For my surrounding air hath a new lightness; Slight are her arms, yet they have bound me straitly And left me cloaked as with a gauze of aether; As with sweet leaves; as with subtle clearness. Oh, I have picked up magic in her nearness To sheathe me half in half the things that sheathe her. No, no! Go from me. I have still the flavour, Soft as spring wind that's come from birchen bowers. Green come the shoots, aye April in the branches, As winter's wound with her sleight hand she staunches, Hath of the trees a likeness of the savour:
As white their bark,so white this lady's hours. Piccadilly Beautiful,tragical faces- Ye that were whole,and are so sunken; And,O ye vile,ye that might have been loved. That are so sodden and drunken, Who hath forgotten you？ O wistful,fragile faces,few out of many! The crass,the coarse,the brazen, God knows I cannot pity them,perhaps,as I should do; But oh,ye delicate,wistful faces, Who hath forgotten you? Before Sleep The lateral vibrations caress me, They leap and caress me, They work pathetically in my favour, They seek my financial good. She of the spear stands present. The gods of the underworld attend me,O Annubis. These are they of thy company. With a pathetic solicitude they attend me; Undulant, Their realm is the lateral courses. Light! I am up to follow thee,Pallas. Up and out of their caresses. You were gone up as a rocket, Bending your passages from right to left and from left to right In the flat projection of a spiral. The gods of drugged sleep attend me, Wishing me well; I am up to follow thee,Pallas
3 As white their bark, so white this lady's hours. Piccadilly Beautiful, tragical faces— Ye that were whole, and are so sunken; And, O ye vile, ye that might have been loved, That are so sodden and drunken, Who hath forgotten you? O wistful, fragile faces, few out of many! The crass, the coarse, the brazen, God knows I cannot pity them, perhaps, as I should do; But oh, ye delicate, wistful faces, Who hath forgotten you? Before Sleep The lateral vibrations caress me, They leap and caress me, They work pathetically in my favour, They seek my financial good. She of the spear stands present. The gods of the underworld attend me, O Annubis, These are they of thy company. With a pathetic solicitude they attend me; Undulant, Their realm is the lateral courses. Light! I am up to follow thee, Pallas. Up and out of their caresses. You were gone up as a rocket, Bending your passages from right to left and from left to right In the flat projection of a spiral. The gods of drugged sleep attend me, Wishing me well; I am up to follow thee, Pallas