‘Thank you, whatever comes.' And then she turned
And, as the ray of sun on hanging flowers
Fades when the wind hath lifted them aside,
Went swiftly from me. Nay, whatever comes
One hour was sunlit and the most high gods
May not make boast of any better thing
Than to have watched that hour as it passed.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Why would anyone want to hear a machine read a poem as beautiful as this one, emotionlessly? Did I make you money just by clicking here? And below it says this poem has not been translated into any other language yet. Are you kidding? This is one of Pound's most popular poems. Whoever runs this website is cynical for a very specific audience. Or dumb? Sorry - I am baffled that this page exists.