Ezra Pound Poems
|241.||To Êáëüí (Greek Title)||4/1/2010|
|242.||To Whistler, American||4/1/2010|
|243.||To-Em-Meps ‘the Unmoving Cloud'||4/1/2010|
|244.||Translations And Adaptations From Heine||4/1/2010|
|246.||Villanelle: The Psychological Hour||1/1/2004|
|247.||Villonaud For This Yule||1/3/2003|
|248.||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.
For the seven lakes, and by no man these verses:
Rain; empty river; a voyage,
Fire from frozen cloud, heavy rain in the twilight
Under the cabin roof was one lantern.
The reeds are heavy; bent;
and the bamboos speak as if weeping.
Autumn moon; hills rise about lakes