Silet

When I behold how black, inmortal ink
Drips from my deathless pen—oh, well-away!
Why should we stop at all for what I think?
There is enough in what I chance to say.

It is enough that we once came together;
What is the use of setting it to rime?
When it is autumn do we get spring weather,
or gather may of harsh north-windish time?

It is enough that we once came together;
What if the wind have turned agains the rain?
It is enough that we once came together;
Time has seen this and will not turn again;

And who are we, who know that last intent;
To plague to-morrow with a testament!

EZRA POUND

Verona, 1911