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Ezra Pound


  • asanisimasalaitцитує9 років тому
    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!
  • Eveцитує7 років тому
    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 Elicerioцитує3 роки тому
    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 Elicerioцитує3 роки тому
    Purifiez nos cœurs
    O God of the silence,
    Purifiez nos cœurs
    O God of waters.
  • Menna Abu Zahraцитує3 роки тому
    Editors of the English Review and the Evening Standard and St. James's Gazette
  • Gaby TeDeцитує4 роки тому
    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 Осипенкоцитує5 років тому
    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
  • b5819520951цитує5 років тому
    this grove my flowers,
    Fruit of prayerful powers,
    Have first their thought of life
    And then their being.
  • ssharifцитує6 років тому
    Planh for the Young English King
  • Eveцитує7 років тому
    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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