En robe de parade. Samain
Like a skein of loose silk blown against a wall
She walks by the railing of a path in Kensington Gardens,
And she is dying piece-meal
Tof a sort of emotional anaemia.
And round about there is a rabble
Of the filthy, sturdy, unkillable infants of the very poor.
They shall inherit the earth.
In her is the end of breeding.
Her boredom is exquisite and excessive.
She would like some one to speak to her,
And is almost afraid that I
Twill commit that indiscretion.
The amazing visual allusions within this and all of Pound's works are astounding. Although I suppose that is already a point of fact for many.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
beautiful....a shift for Emily.