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.
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.
Ezra-Pound-Provenca-English
whatasightyouha'goto'ourin'ards, Mad as a hatter but surely no Myope,
Broad as all ocean and leanin' mankin'ards.
Heart that was big as the bowels of Vesuvius, Words that were wing'd as her sparks in eruption^
Eagled and thundered as Jupiter Pluvius, Sound in your wind past all signs o' corruption.
14
? Here 's to you, Old Hippety-hop o' the accents, True to the Truth's sake and crafty dissector,
You grabbed at the gold sure; had no need to pack cents
Into your versicles.
Clear sight's elector !
Mesmer- ism
FAMAM LIBROSQUE CANO songs?
YOUR Oh
!
The little mothers
Will sing them in the twilight, And when the night
Shrinketh the kiss of the dawn That loves and kills,
What time the swallow fills
Her note, the little rabbit folk
That some call children,
Such as are up and wide
Will laugh your verses to each other, Pulling on their shoes for the day's business, Serious child business that the world Laughs at, and grows stale;
Such is the tale
Part of it of thy song-life. 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.
Broad as all ocean and leanin' mankin'ards.
Heart that was big as the bowels of Vesuvius, Words that were wing'd as her sparks in eruption^
Eagled and thundered as Jupiter Pluvius, Sound in your wind past all signs o' corruption.
14
? Here 's to you, Old Hippety-hop o' the accents, True to the Truth's sake and crafty dissector,
You grabbed at the gold sure; had no need to pack cents
Into your versicles.
Clear sight's elector !
Mesmer- ism
FAMAM LIBROSQUE CANO songs?
YOUR Oh
!
The little mothers
Will sing them in the twilight, And when the night
Shrinketh the kiss of the dawn That loves and kills,
What time the swallow fills
Her note, the little rabbit folk
That some call children,
Such as are up and wide
Will laugh your verses to each other, Pulling on their shoes for the day's business, Serious child business that the world Laughs at, and grows stale;
Such is the tale
Part of it of thy song-life. 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.
