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Ezra Pound (1885-1972)

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Thou that art sweeter than all orchards' breath And clearer than the sun gleam after rain Thou that savest my soul's self from death As scorpion's is, of self-inflicted pain Thou that dost ever make demand for the best I have to give Gentle to utmost courteously bidding only my pure-purged spirits live: Thou that spellest ever gold from out my dross Mage powerful and subtly sweet Gathering fragments that there be no loss Behold the brighter gains lie at thy feet. If any flower mortescent lay in sun-withering dust If any old forgotten sweetness of a former drink Naught but stilt fragrance of autumnal flowers Mnemonic of spring's bloom and parody of powers That make the spring the mistress of our earth-- If such a perfume of a dulled rebirth Lingered, obliviate with o'er mistrust, Marescent, fading on the dolorous brink That border is to that marasmic sea Where all desire's harmony Tendeth and endeth in sea monotone Blendeth wave and wind and rocks most drear Into dull sub-harmonies of light;out grown From man's compass of intelligence, Where love and fear meet Having ceased to be: All this, and such disconsolate finery As doth remain in this gaunt castle of my heart Thou gatherest of thy clemency Sifting the fair and foul apart, Thou weavest for thy self a sun-gold bower By subtily incanted raed Every unfavorable and ill-happed hour Turneth blind and potently is stayed Before the threshold of thy dwelling place Holy, as beneath all-holy wings Some sacred covenant had passed thereby Wondrous as wind murmurings That night thy fingers laid on mine their benediction When thru the interfoliate strings Joy sang among God's earthly trees Yea in this house of thine that I have found at last Meseemeth a high heaven's antepast And thou thyself art unto me Both as the glory head and sun Casting thine own anthelion Thru this dull mist My soul was wont to be.