Ezra Pound Poems

  • 201.  
    Vex not thou the banker's mind
    (His what?) with a show of sense,Vex it not, Willie, his mind,
  • 202.  
    â??I am thy soul, Nikoptis. I have watched
    These five millennia, and thy dead eyesMoved not, nor ever answer my desire,
  • 203.  
    Let some new lying ass,
    Who knows not what is or was,Talk economics,
  • 204.  
    The phoenix are at play on their terrace.
    The phoenix are gone, the river Hows on alone.Flowers and grass
  • 205.  
    O woe, woe,
    People are born and die, We also shall be dead pretty soon
  • 206.  
    The twisted rhombs ceased their clamour of accompaniment;The scorched laurel lay in the fire-dust;
  • 207.  
    .Light, light of my eyes, at an exceeding late hour I was wandering,
    And intoxicated,and no servant was leading me,
  • 208.  
    The sun rises in south east corner of things
    To look on the tall house of the ShinFor they have a daughter named Rafu,
  • 209.  
    Nine adulteries, 12 liaisons, 64 fornications and
    something approaching a rapeRest nightly upon the soul of our delicate friend
  • 210.  
    There is a truce among the gods,
    Kore is seen in the NorthSkirting the blue-gray sea
  • 211.  
    â??Tis Evanoe's,
    A house not made with hands,But out somewhere beyond the worldly ways
  • 212.  
    I had over prepared the event,
    that much was ominous.With middle-ageing care
  • 213.  
    The petals fall in the fountain,
    the orange-coloured rose-leaves,Their ochre clings to the stone.
  • 214.  
    I stood still and was a tree amid the wood,
    Knowing the truth of things unseen before;Of Daphne and the laurel bow
  • 215.  
    The small dogs look at the big dogs;
    They observe unwieldy dimensionsAnd curious imperfections of odor.
  • 216.  
    May I for my own self song's truth reckon,
    Journey's jargon, how I in harsh daysHardship endured oft.
  • 217.  
    After Li Po

  • 218.  
    See, they return; ah, see the tentative
    Movements, and the slow feet,The trouble in the pace and the uncertain
  • 219.  
    I would bathe myself in strangeness:
    These comforts heaped upon me, smother me!I burn, I scald so for the new,
  • 220.  
    Come, or the stellar tide will slip away.
    Eastward avoid the hour of its decline,Now! for the needle trembles in my soul!
  • 221.  
    O God, O Venus, O Mercury, patron of thieves,
    Give me in due time, I beseech you, a little tobacco-shop,With the little bright boxes
  • 222.  
    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,
  • 223.  
    En robe de parade.
  • 224.  
    All the while they were talking the new morality
    Her eyes explored me.And when I rose to go
  • 225.  
    As a bathtub lined with white porcelain,
    When the hot water gives out or goes tepid,So is the slow cooling of our chivalrous passion,
  • 226.  
    It is, and is not, I am sane enough,
    Since you have come this place has hovered round me,This fabrication built of autumn roses,
  • 227.  
    I am a grave poetic hen
    That lays poetic eggsAnd to enhance my temperament
  • 228.  
    O woe, woe,
    People are born and die,We also shall be dead pretty soon
  • 229.  
    When I behold how black, immortal ink
    Drips from my deathless pen-ah, well-away!Why should we stop at all for what I think?
  • 230.  
    LOQUITUR: En Bertans de Born.
    Dante Alighieri put this man in hell for that he was a stirrer up of strife.Eccovi!
  • 231.  
    O generation of the thoroughly smug
    and thoroughly uncomfortable,I have seen fishermen picnicking in the sun,
  • 232.  
    Your mind and you are our Sargasso Sea,
    London has swept about you this score yearsAnd bright ships left you this or that in fee:
  • 233.  
    Beautiful, tragical faces-
    Ye that were whole, and are so sunken;And, O ye vile, ye that might have been loved,
  • 234.  
    When I carefully consider the curious habits of dogs
    I am compelled to concludeThat man is the superior animal.
  • 235.  
    By the North Gate, the wind blows full of sand,
    Lonely from the beginning of time until now!Trees fall, the grass goes yellow with autumn.
  • 236.  
    Green arsenic smeared on an egg-white cloth,
    Crushed strawberries! Come, let us feast our eyes.
  • 237.  
    Go, my songs, seek your praise from the young
    and from the intolerant,Move among the lovers of perfection alone.
  • 238.  
    Empty are the ways,
    Empty are the ways of this landAnd the flowers
  • 239.  
    The apparition of these faces in the crowd;
    Petals on a wet, black bough.
  • 240.  
    No man hath dared to write this thing as yet,
    And yet I know, how that the souls of all men greatAt times pass athrough us,
  • 241.  
    Come, my songs, let us express our baser passions.
    Let us express our envy for the man with a steady job and no worry about the future.You are very idle, my songs,
  • 242.  
    You came in out of the night
    And there were flowers in your hand,Now you will come out of a confusion of people,
  • 243.  
    O Fan of white silk,
    clear as frost on the grass-blade,You also are laid aside.
  • 244.  
    Wal, Thanksgivin' do be comin' round.
    With the price of turkeys on the bound,And coal, by gum! Thet were just found,
  • 245.  
    O Chansons foregoing
    You were a seven days' wonder.When you came out in the magazines
  • 246.  
    For three years, out of key with his time,
    He strove to resuscitate the dead artOf poetry; to maintain “the sublime”
  • 247.  
    Go, dumb-born book,
    Tell her that sang me once that song of Lawes:Hadst thou but song
  • 248.  
    Italian Campagna 1309, the open road

  • 249.  
    For the seven lakes, and by no man these verses:
    Rain; empty river; a voyage,Fire from frozen cloud, heavy rain in the twilight
  • 250.  
    Kung walked
    by the dynastic templeand into the cedar grove,
Total 257 poems written by Ezra Pound

Poem of the day

Eight O’Clock
 by Sara Teasdale

Supper comes at five o'clock,
At six, the evening star,
My lover comes at eight o'clock -
But eight o'clock is far.

How could I bear my pain all day
Unless I watched to see
The clock-hands laboring to bring

Read complete poem

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