TEMPORE SENECTUTIS OR we are old
And the earth passion dieth;
We have watched him die a thousand times, When he wanes an old wind crieth,
For we are old
And passion hath died for us a thousand times
But we grew never weary.
And the earth passion dieth;
We have watched him die a thousand times, When he wanes an old wind crieth,
For we are old
And passion hath died for us a thousand times
But we grew never weary.
Ezra-Pound-Provenca-English
Mine?
A book is known by them that read Thatsame. Thypublicinmyscreed
Is listed. Well ! Some score years hence Behold mine audience,
As we had seen him yesterday.
15
? Famam
Scrawny, be-spectacled, out at heels,
Such an one as the wor d feels !
A sort of curse against its guzzling
And its age-lasting wallow for red greed
And yet, full speed
Though it should run for its own getting, Will turn aside to sneer at
'Cause he hath
No coin, no will to snatch the aftermath Of Mammon.
Such an one as women draw away from For the tobacco ashes scattered on his coat And sith his throat
Show razor's unfamiliarity And three days' beard:
Such an one picking a ragged Backless copy from the stall,
Too cheap for cataloguing, Loquitur,
"Ah-eh! the strange rare name .
Ah-eh ! He must be rare if even / have not And lost mid-page
Such age
As his pardons the habit,
He analyzes form and thought to see
How I 'scaped immortality.
16
. .
?
TEMPORE SENECTUTIS OR we are old
And the earth passion dieth;
We have watched him die a thousand times, When he wanes an old wind crieth,
For we are old
And passion hath died for us a thousand times
But we grew never weary.
Memory faileth, as the lotus-loved chimes
Sink into fluttering of wind, But we grow never weary For we are old.
The strange night-wonder of your eyes Dies not, though passion flieth
Along the star fields of Arcturus And is no more unto our hands;
My lips are cold
And yet we twain are never weary,
And the strange night-wonder is upon us,
The leaves hold our wonder in their flutterings, The wind fills our mouths with strange words
For our wonder that grows not old.
The moth-hour of our day is upon us Holding the dawn;
There is strange Night-wonder in our eyes Because the Moth-Hour leadeth the dawn
As a maiden, holding her fingers,
The rosy, slender fingers of the dawn. "
17
? InTem- Hesaith:"Redspearsborethewarriordawn Of old
**: Strange! Love, hast thou forgotten
The red spears of the dawn, The pennants of the morning? "
She saith: "Nay, I remember, but now Cometh the Dawn, and the Moth-Hour
Together with him ; softly For we are old. "
CAMARADERIE
"Etuttogite tofossealacantpagniadimolti,quantaaliavista"
I feel thy cheek against my face
SOMETIMES soft as is the South's first breath Close-pressing,
That all the subtle earth-things summoneth To spring in wood-land and in meadow space.
Yea sometimes in a bustling man-filled place Meseemeth some-wise thy hair wandereth Across mine eyes, as mist that halloweth The air awhile and giveth all things grace.
Or on still evenings when the rain falls close There comes a tremor in the drops, and fast
My pulses run, knowing thy thought hath passed That beareth thee as doth the wind a rose.
18
nectutis. OA
,
T ,
? FOR E. McC.
THAT WAS MY COUNTER-BLADE UNDER LEONARDO TERRONE, MASTER OF FENCE
i~* ONE while your tastes were keen to you, \J Gone where the grey winds call to you,
By that high fencer, even Death,
Struck of the blade that no man parrieth;
Such is your fence, one saith, One that hath known you.
A book is known by them that read Thatsame. Thypublicinmyscreed
Is listed. Well ! Some score years hence Behold mine audience,
As we had seen him yesterday.
15
? Famam
Scrawny, be-spectacled, out at heels,
Such an one as the wor d feels !
A sort of curse against its guzzling
And its age-lasting wallow for red greed
And yet, full speed
Though it should run for its own getting, Will turn aside to sneer at
'Cause he hath
No coin, no will to snatch the aftermath Of Mammon.
Such an one as women draw away from For the tobacco ashes scattered on his coat And sith his throat
Show razor's unfamiliarity And three days' beard:
Such an one picking a ragged Backless copy from the stall,
Too cheap for cataloguing, Loquitur,
"Ah-eh! the strange rare name .
Ah-eh ! He must be rare if even / have not And lost mid-page
Such age
As his pardons the habit,
He analyzes form and thought to see
How I 'scaped immortality.
16
. .
?
TEMPORE SENECTUTIS OR we are old
And the earth passion dieth;
We have watched him die a thousand times, When he wanes an old wind crieth,
For we are old
And passion hath died for us a thousand times
But we grew never weary.
Memory faileth, as the lotus-loved chimes
Sink into fluttering of wind, But we grow never weary For we are old.
The strange night-wonder of your eyes Dies not, though passion flieth
Along the star fields of Arcturus And is no more unto our hands;
My lips are cold
And yet we twain are never weary,
And the strange night-wonder is upon us,
The leaves hold our wonder in their flutterings, The wind fills our mouths with strange words
For our wonder that grows not old.
The moth-hour of our day is upon us Holding the dawn;
There is strange Night-wonder in our eyes Because the Moth-Hour leadeth the dawn
As a maiden, holding her fingers,
The rosy, slender fingers of the dawn. "
17
? InTem- Hesaith:"Redspearsborethewarriordawn Of old
**: Strange! Love, hast thou forgotten
The red spears of the dawn, The pennants of the morning? "
She saith: "Nay, I remember, but now Cometh the Dawn, and the Moth-Hour
Together with him ; softly For we are old. "
CAMARADERIE
"Etuttogite tofossealacantpagniadimolti,quantaaliavista"
I feel thy cheek against my face
SOMETIMES soft as is the South's first breath Close-pressing,
That all the subtle earth-things summoneth To spring in wood-land and in meadow space.
Yea sometimes in a bustling man-filled place Meseemeth some-wise thy hair wandereth Across mine eyes, as mist that halloweth The air awhile and giveth all things grace.
Or on still evenings when the rain falls close There comes a tremor in the drops, and fast
My pulses run, knowing thy thought hath passed That beareth thee as doth the wind a rose.
18
nectutis. OA
,
T ,
? FOR E. McC.
THAT WAS MY COUNTER-BLADE UNDER LEONARDO TERRONE, MASTER OF FENCE
i~* ONE while your tastes were keen to you, \J Gone where the grey winds call to you,
By that high fencer, even Death,
Struck of the blade that no man parrieth;
Such is your fence, one saith, One that hath known you.
