Written by
Ezra Pound |
Come, my songs, let us express our baser passions.
Let us express our envy for the man with a steady job and no worry about the future.
You are very idle, my songs,
I fear you will come to a bad end.
You stand about the streets, You loiter at the corners and bus-stops,
You do next to nothing at all.
You do not even express our inner nobilitys,
You will come to a very bad end.
And I? I have gone half-cracked.
I have talked to you so much that I almost see you about me,
Insolent little beasts! Shameless! Devoid of clothing!
But you, newest song of the lot,
You are not old enough to have done much mischief.
I will get you a green coat out of China
With dragons worked upon it.
I will get you the scarlet silk trousers
From the statue of the infant Christ at Santa Maria Novella;
Lest they say we are lacking in taste,
Or that there is no caste in this family.
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Written by
Francesco Petrarch |
[Pg 221] SONNET CCXVI. I' pur ascolto, e non odo novella. HEARING NO TIDINGS OF HER, HE BEGINS TO DESPAIR. Still do I wait to hear, in vain still wait,Of that sweet enemy I love so well:What now to think or say I cannot tell,'Twixt hope and fear my feelings fluctuate:The beautiful are still the marks of fate;And sure her worth and beauty most excel:What if her God have call'd her hence, to dwellWhere virtue finds a more congenial state?If so, she will illuminate that sphereEven as a sun: but I—'tis done with me!I then am nothing, have no business here!O cruel absence! why not let me seeThe worst? my little tale is told, I fear,My scene is closed ere it accomplish'd be. Morehead. No tidings yet—I listen, but in vain;Of her, my beautiful belovèd foe,What or to think or say I nothing know,So thrills my heart, my fond hopes so sustain,Danger to some has in their beauty lain;Fairer and chaster she than others show;God haply seeks to snatch from earth belowVirtue's best friend, that heaven a star may gain,Or rather sun. If what I dread be nigh,My life, its trials long, its brief reposeAre ended all. O cruel absence! whyDidst thou remove me from the menaced woes?My short sad story is already done,And midway in its course my vain race run. Macgregor.
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