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x
x
This is poesy.
x
Vowel music.
Lovely scud
in "fugitive".
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Stand
on the highest pavement of the stair—
Lean on a garden urn—
Weave, weave the sunlight in your hair—
Clasp your flowers to you with a pained surprise—
Fling them to the ground and turn
With a fugitive resentment in your eyes:
But weave, weave the sunlight in your hair.
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x
x
The "Ash Wednesday"
construction.
Sweeney on the bloody wood.
A turn of scenery.
French.
English.
Pure Eliot.
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So
I would have had him leave,
So I would have had her stand and grieve,
So he would have left
As the soul leaves the body torn and bruised,
As the mind deserts the body it has used.
I should find
Some way incomparably light and deft,
Some way we both should understand,
Simple and faithless as a smile and shake of the hand.
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Compression.
x
Laforgue.
Also poesy.
Pound.
Laforgue.
A harlequinade.
Yeats.
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She
turned away, but with the autumn weather
Compelled my imagination many days,
Many days and many hours:
Her hair over her arms and her arms full of flowers.
And I wonder how they should have been together!
I should have lost a gesture and a pose.
Sometimes these cogitations still amaze
The troubled midnight and the noon's repose.
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