Some may have blamed us that we cease to speak
Of things we spoke of in our verses early,
Saying: a lovely voice is such as such;
Saying: that lady's eyes were sad last week,
Wherein the world's whole joy is born and dies;
Saying: she hath this way or that, this much
Of grace, this way or that, this much
Of grace, this little misericorde;
Ask us no further word;
If we were proud, then proud to be so wise
Ask us no more of all the things ye heard;
We may not speak of them, they touch us nearly.
The Fault Of It
Ezra Pound
(1)
Poem topics: joy, sad, world, voice, wise, touch, early, lady, speak, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
Submit Spanish Translation
Submit German Translation
Submit French Translation
About The Fault Of It
The Fault Of It is a poem by Ezra Pound. This page includes the poem text, poet information, related topics, comments, and similar poems.
Write your comment about The Fault Of It poem by Ezra Pound
Best Poems of Ezra Pound
