Ezra Pound Poems
|241.||To Whistler, American||4/1/2010|
|242.||To-Em-Meps ‘the Unmoving Cloud'||4/1/2010|
|243.||Translations And Adaptations From Heine||4/1/2010|
|245.||Villanelle: The Psychological Hour||1/1/2004|
|246.||Villonaud For This Yule||1/3/2003|
|247.||Women Before A Shop||4/1/2010|
The tree has entered my hands,
The sap has ascended my arms,
The tree has grown in my breast -
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.
Taking Leave Of A Friend
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.
Mind like a floating wide cloud,
Sunset like the parting of old acquaintances
Who bow over their clasped hands at a distance.
Our horses neigh to each others