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 leaves1 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