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from Hugh Selwyn Mauberly

 For three years, out of key with his time,
He strove to resuscitate the dead art
Of poetry; to maintain "the sublime"
In the old scene.
Wrong from the start-- No, hardly, but seeing he had been born In a half-savage country, out of date; Bent resolutely on wringing lilies from the acorn; Capaneus; trout for factitious bait; [idmen gar toi pant, hos eni Troiei] Caught in the unstopped ear; Giving the rocks small lee-way The chopped seas held him, therefore, that year.
His true Penelope was Flaubert, He fished by obstinate isles; Observed the elegance of Circe's hair Rather than the mottoes on sun-dials.
Unaffected by "the march of events," He passed from men's memory in l'an trentuniesme De son eage; the case presents No adjunct to the Muses' diadem.

by Ezra Pound
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