Ezra Pound Poem

I Wait

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As some pale-lidded ghost that calls
I wait secure until that other goes
Leaving thee free for thy high self of old,
Upon which soul then free, will mine beget
Such mighty fantasies as we before
Bade stand effulgent and rejoice the world.

I wait secure and waiting know I not
A bite of anger at thy littleness, nor even envy
Of that other one that bindeth thee
Within the close-hewn shroud of womanhood.

Being at peace with God and all his stars
Why should I quail the stings of nettle Time
Or fret the hour.
         Are there canals less green
Or do the mottled colors of reflexion
Less dew their waters with mild harmony?
Is there less merriment and life withall
Amid this hoard of half-tamed brats
That rollick o’er the well-curb,
                          while one crowned
In mock of finery doth lead the rout
Half-scared at all the
                                  new-found pomp
Atop of him?
                    A Czar in very soul.
And if they mock the world in this their spot
Is not their jest as near to
                         wisdom as are we?

In That Country


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