Ezra Pound Poems

  • 201.  
    I
    ROSE WHITE, YELLOW, SILVER
  • 202.  
    Ha' we lost the goodliest fere o' all
    For the priests and the gallows tree? Aye lover he was of brawny men,
  • 203.  
    You say that I take a good deal upon myself;
    That I strut in the robes of assumption.
  • 204.  
    My name is Nunty Cormorant
    And my finance is sound, I lend you Englishmen hot air
  • 205.  
    I
    Phyllidula and the Spoils of Gouvernet
  • 206.  
    â??Pan is dead. Great Pan is dead.
    Ah! bow your heads, ye maidens all, And weave ye him his coronal.â??
  • 207.  
    The petals fall in the fountain,
    the orange-coloured rose-leaves, Their ochre clings to the stone.
  • 208.  
    â??Tis but a vague, invarious delight
    As gold that rains about some buried king.
  • 209.  
    O woe, woe,
    People are born and die, We also shall be dead pretty soon
  • 210.  
    The salmon-trout drifts in the stream,
    The soul of the salmon-trout floats over the stream Like a little wafer of light.
  • 211.  
    When, when, and whenever death closes our eyelids,
    Moving naked over Acheron
  • 212.  
    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
  • 213.  
    Your mind and you are our Sargasso Sea,
    London has swept about you this score years And bright ships left you this or that in fee:
  • 214.  
    With Usura
    With usura hath no man a house of good stone
  • 215.  
    Who am I to condemn you, O Dives,
    I who am as much embittered With poverty
  • 216.  
    Agathas
    Four and forty lovers had Agathas in the old days, All of whom she refused;
  • 217.  
    Aye you're a man that ! ye old mesmerizer
    Tyin' your meanin' in seventy swadelin's, One must of needs be a hang'd early riser
  • 218.  
    Rudyard the dud yard,
    Rudyard the false measure, Told 'em that glory
  • 219.  
    For three years, out of key with his time,
    He strove to resuscitate the dead art Of poetry; to maintain "the sublime"
  • 220.  
    Half a loaf, half a loaf,
    Half a loaf? Urn-hum? Down through the vale of gloom
  • 221.  
    Because a lady asks me, I would tell
    Of an affect that comes often and is fell And is so overweening; Love by name.
  • 222.  
    I
    The clouds have gathered, and gathered, and the rain falls and falls,
  • 223.  
    Gladstone was still respected,
    When John Ruskin produced 'King's Treasuries'; Swinburne
  • 224.  
    The girl in the tea shop
    Is not so beautiful as she was, The August has worn against her.
  • 225.  
    Thou keep'st thy rose-leaf
    Till the rose-time will be over, Think'st thou that Death will kiss thee?
  • 226.  
    WIND
    Scarce and thin, scarce and thin
  • 227.  
    Kung walked
    by the dynastic temple and into the cedar grove,
  • 228.  
    And the days are not full enough
    And the nights are not full enough And life slips by like a field mouse
  • 229.  
    Come, let us pity those who are better off than we are.
    Come, my friend, and remember       that the rich have butlers and no friends,
  • 230.  
    On a certain one's departure
    â??Time's bitter flood'! Oh, that's all very well,
  • 231.  
    Another's a half-cracked fellowâ??John Heydon,
    Worker of miracles, dealer in levitation, In thoughts upon pure form, in alchemy,
  • 232.  
    Her grave, sweet haughtiness
    Pleaseth me, and in like wise Her quiet ironies.
  • 233.  
    DIFFERENCE OF OPINION WITH
    LYGDAMUS
  • 234.  
    Leucis, who intended a Grand Passion,
    Ends with a willingness-to-oblige.
  • 235.  
    This thing, that hath a code and not a core,
    Hath set acquaintance where might be affections, And nothing now
  • 236.  
    Fu I
    Fu I loved the high cloud and the hill,
  • 237.  
    Let us build here an exquisite friendship,
    The flame, the autumn, and the green rose of love Fought out their strife here, 'tis a place of wonder;
  • 238.  
    FROM CHARLES D'ORLEANS
    God! that mad'st her well regard her, How she is so fair and bonny;
  • 239.  
    Towards the Noel that morte saison
    (Christ make the shepherds' homage dear!) Then when the grey wolves everychone
  • 240.  
    Why does the horse-faced lady of just the unmentionable age
    Walk down Longacre reciting Swinburne to herself, inaudibly? Why does the small child in the soiled-white imitation fur coat
  • 241.  
    IN o more for us the little sighing.
    No more the winds at twilight trouble us.
  • 242.  
    Lo, how it gleams and glistens in the sun
    Like the cheek of a Chesterton.
  • 243.  
    These fought in any case,
    and some believing pro domo, in any case .....
  • 244.  
    For a moment she rested against me
    Like a swallow half blown to the wall, And they talk of Swinburne's women,
  • 245.  
    She passed and left no quiver in the veins, who now
    Moving among the trees, and clinging in the air she severed,
  • 246.  
    Candidia has taken a new lover
    And three poets are gone into mourning. The first has written a long elegy to 'Chloris',
  • 247.  
    Green arsenic smeared on an egg-white cloth,
    Crushed strawberries! Come, let us feast our eyes.
  • 248.  
    Alba
    When the nightingale to his mate
  • 249.  
    When I was only a youngster,
    Sing: toodle doodlede ootl Ole Kate would git her 'arf a pint
  • 250.  
    When I was only a youngster,
    Sing: toodle doodlede ootl Ole Kate would git her 'arf a pint
Total 257 poems written by Ezra Pound

Poem of the day

Martial, Lib. I, Epig. I.
 by George Gordon Byron

'Hic est, quem legis, ille, quern requiris, Tota notus in orbe Martialis,' &c.


He unto whom thou art so partial,
Oh, reader is the well-known Martial,
The Epigrammatist: while living,
Give him the fame thou wouldst be giving;
So shall he hear, and feel, and know it--
...

Read complete poem

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