The
Garden
(Ezra
Pound)
En
robe de parade. Samain
Like a sheein of losso silk blown against a wall
She walks by the railing of a path in Kensington
Gardens,
And she is dying piece-meal
of
a sort of emotional anaemia
And round about there is a rabble
Of the filthy, sturdy, unkillable infants of the very
poor.
They shall inherif the earth
In her is end of breeding.
Her boredom is exquisite and excessevi.
She would like some one to speak to her,
And is almost afraid that I
will commit that indiscretion.
Nenhum comentário:
Postar um comentário