Ezra Pound

(30 October 1885 – 1 November 1972 / Hailey / Idaho)

Ezra Pound Poems

81. Gentildonna 4/1/2010
82. Grace Before Song 1/1/2004
83. Guido Invites You Thus 4/1/2010
84. Heather 4/1/2010
85. Her Monument, The Image Cut Thereon 4/1/2010
86. Historion 1/1/2004
87. Histrion 1/3/2003
88. Homage To Quintus Septimus Florentis Christianus 4/1/2010
89. Homage To Sextus Propertius - I 4/1/2010
90. Homage To Sextus Propertius - Ii 4/1/2010
91. Homage To Sextus Propertius - Iii 4/1/2010
92. Homage To Sextus Propertius - Iv 4/1/2010
93. Homage To Sextus Propertius - Ix 4/1/2010
94. Homage To Sextus Propertius - V 4/1/2010
95. Homage To Sextus Propertius - Vi 4/1/2010
96. Homage To Sextus Propertius - Vii 4/1/2010
97. Homage To Sextus Propertius - Viii 4/1/2010
98. Homage To Sextus Propertius - X 4/1/2010
99. Homage To Sextus Propertius - Xi 4/1/2010
100. Homage To Sextus Propertius - Xii 4/1/2010
101. Horae Beatae Inscripto 4/1/2010
102. Hugh Selwyn Mauberly (Part I) 1/3/2003
103. Image From D'Orleans 4/1/2010
104. Impressions Of Francois-Marie Arouet (De Voltaire) 4/1/2010
105. In A Station Of The Metro 1/3/2003
106. In Durance 4/1/2010
107. In Exitum Cuiusdam 4/1/2010
108. In Tempore Senectutis 1/1/2004
109. In The Old Age Of The Soul 1/1/2004
110. Invern 1/1/2004
111. Ione, Dead The Long Year 1/3/2003
112. Ité 1/3/2003
113. La Fraisne 4/1/2010
114. La Regina Avrillouse 1/3/2003
115. Ladies 4/1/2010
116. Lament Of The Frontier Guard 1/3/2003
117. Langue D'Oc 4/1/2010
118. L'Art 1/3/2003
119. Leave-Taking Near Shoku 4/1/2010
120. Les Millwin 4/1/2010
Best Poem of 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.

Read the full of A Girl

Canto XVI

And before hell mouth; dry plain
and two mountains;
On the one mountain, a running form,
and another
In the turn of the hill; in hard steel
The road like a slow screw's thread,
The angle almost imperceptible,
so that the circuit seemed hardly to rise;
And the running form, naked, Blake,

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