Come, or the stellar tide will slip away.
Eastward avoid the hour of its decline,
Now! for the needle trembles in my soul!
Here have we had the vantage, the good hour.
Here we have had our day, your day and mine.
Come now, before this power
That bears us up, shall turn against the pole.
Mock not the flood of stars, the thing's to be.
O Love, come now, this land turns evil slowly.
The waves bore in, soon will they bear away.
The treasure is ours, make we fast land with it.
Move we and take the tide, with its next favour,
Under some neutral force
Until this course turneth aside.
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Comments about this poem (The Needle by Ezra Pound )
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
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(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
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(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
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(13 June 1865 – 28 January 1939)
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