In The Old Age Of The Soul Poem by Ezra Pound

In The Old Age Of The Soul

Rating: 2.9


I do not choose to dream; there cometh on me
Some strange old lust for deeds.
As to the nerveless hand of some old warrior
The sword-hilt or the war-worn wonted helmet
Brings momentary life and long-fled cunning,
So to my soul grown old -
Grown old with many a jousting, many a foray,
Grown old with namy a hither-coming and hence-going -
Till now they send him dreams and no more deed;
So doth he flame again with might for action,
Forgetful of the council of elders,
Forgetful that who rules doth no more battle,
Forgetful that such might no more cleaves to him
So doth he flame again toward valiant doing.

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Georg Hersch 13 December 2005

A wily man indeed, with his cheeky references to Don Quixote. Oh, I love Ezra Pound.

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Ezra Pound

Ezra Pound

Hailey / Idaho
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