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Ezra Pound

Exultations

  • asanisimasalaitцитирует9 лет назад
    I have seen thee bound about with dreams,
    Lo, I have known thy heart and its desire;
    Life, all of it, my sea, and all men's streams
    Are fused in it as flames of an altar fire!
  • Eveцитирует7 лет назад
    You came in out of the night
    And there were flowers in your hands,
    Now you will come out of a confusion of people,
    Out of a turmoil of speech about you.
  • Alejandra Elicerioцитирует3 года назад
    When I but think upon the great dead days
    And turn my mind upon that splendid madness,
    Lo! I do curse my strength
    And blame the sun his gladness;
    For that the one is dead
    And the red sun mocks my sadness.
  • Alejandra Elicerioцитирует3 года назад
    Purifiez nos cœurs
    O God of the silence,
    Purifiez nos cœurs
    O God of waters.
  • Menna Abu Zahraцитирует3 года назад
    Editors of the English Review and the Evening Standard and St. James's Gazette
  • Gaby TeDeцитирует4 года назад
    I am an eternal spirit and the things I
    make are but ephemera, yet I endure:
    Yea, and the little earth crumbles beneath
    our feet and we endure.
  • Анастасія Осипенкоцитирует5 лет назад
    God of silence,
    Purifiez nos cœurs,
    Purifiez nos cœurs,
    For we have seen
    The glory of the shadow of the
    likeness of thine handmaid,
    Yea, the glory of the shadow
    of thy Beauty hath walked
  • b5819520951цитирует6 лет назад
    this grove my flowers,
    Fruit of prayerful powers,
    Have first their thought of life
    And then their being.
  • ssharifцитирует6 лет назад
    Planh for the Young English King
  • Eveцитирует7 лет назад
    has ... hardly any of the superficial good qualities of modern versifiers;... He has not the current melancholy or resignation or unwillingness to live; nor the kind of feeling for nature that runs to minute description and decorative metaphor. He cannot be usefully compared with any living writers;... full of personality and with such power to express it, that from the first to the last lines of most of his poems he holds us steadily in his own pure, grave, passionate world....
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