Ezra Pound

(30 October 1885 – 1 November 1972 / Hailey / Idaho)

Ezra Pound Poems

121. Another Bit And An Offer 4/1/2010
122. Erat Hora 4/1/2010
123. The White Stag 4/1/2010
124. Fratres Minores 4/1/2010
125. Tenzone 4/1/2010
126. Canto Iii 4/1/2010
127. Piccadilly 4/1/2010
128. The Spring 4/1/2010
129. The Social Order 4/1/2010
130. Epitaphs 4/1/2010
131. The Patterns 4/1/2010
132. The Alchemist 4/1/2010
133. Shop Girl 4/1/2010
134. Alf’s Sixth Bit 4/1/2010
135. Tempora 4/1/2010
136. To Whistler, American 4/1/2010
137. Black Slippers: Bellotti 4/1/2010
138. Apparuit 4/1/2010
139. Äþñßá (Greek Title) 4/1/2010
140. Alf’s Seventh Bit 4/1/2010
141. Alf’s Third Bit 4/1/2010
142. Rome 4/1/2010
143. Alf’s Tenth Bit 4/1/2010
144. Come To My Cantilations 4/1/2010
145. The Baby 4/1/2010
146. Alf’s Second Bit 4/1/2010
147. The Altar 4/1/2010
148. Ancora 4/1/2010
149. Ballatetta 4/1/2010
150. Alf’s Ninth Bit 4/1/2010
151. De Ægypto 4/1/2010
152. In Durance 4/1/2010
153. Alf’s Fifth Bit 4/1/2010
154. The Rest 4/1/2010
155. The Tea Shop 4/1/2010
156. And Thus In Nineveh 4/1/2010
157. On His Own Face In A Glass 4/1/2010
158. Alf’s Twelfth Bit 4/1/2010
159. Au Jardin 4/1/2010
160. The Eyes 4/1/2010

Comments about Ezra Pound

  • Emeni Phimu (11/12/2009 5:49:00 AM)

    tell me full reference of this poem also difficult words and word meaning including examples

    30 person liked.
    55 person did not like.
  • Uriah Hamilton (7/12/2005 8:31:00 AM)

    Mad twentieth century poet
    Of brilliance!

Best Poem of Ezra Pound

A Girl

The tree has entered my hands,
The sap has ascended my arms,
The tree has grown in my breast -
Downward,
The branches grow out of me, like arms.

Tree you are,
Moss you are,
You are violets with wind above them.
A child - so high - you are,
And all this is folly to the world.

Read the full of A Girl

Histrion

No man hath dared to write this thing as yet,
And yet I know, how that the souls of all men great
At times pass athrough us,
And we are melted into them, and are not
Save reflexions of their souls.
Thus am I Dante for a space and am
One Francois Villon, ballad-lord and thief,
Or am such holy ones I may not write
Lest blasphemy be writ against my name;

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