The Garden En robe de parade. - SamainLike a skein of loose silk blown against a wallShe walks by the railing of a path in Kensington Gardens,And she is dying piece-mealof a sort of emotional anaemia.And round about there is a rabbleOf 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 will commit that indiscretion.
lustra personae poem poetry

About This Quote

About Ezra Pound

Ezra Pound was a 19th-century American poet and critic. Ezra Weston Loomis Pound was an American poet and critic, a major figure in the early modernist poetry movement, and a collaborator in Fascist Italy and the Salò Republic during World War II. His works include Ripostes (1912), Hugh Selwyn Mauberley (1920), and The Cantos. Read more on Wikipedia →

Themes

  • Poetry — The art of language, rhythm, and emotional expression

More quotes by Ezra Pound

“Speak against unconscious oppression,Speak against the tyranny of the unimaginative,Speak against bonds.”
— Ezra Pound
art poetry pound

“It is difficult to write a paradiso when all the superficial indications are that you ought to write an apocalypse.”
— Ezra Pound
cynicisim despair difficulty fear

“L'artGreen arsenic smeared on an egg-white cloth, Crushed strawberries! Come, let us feast our eyes.”
— Ezra Pound
poetry

“And round about there is a rabbleOf the filthy, sturdy, unkillable infants of the very poor.They shall inherit the earth.”
— Ezra Pound
poetry

“Literature is news which stays news.”
— Ezra Pound
literary-criticism poetry

“This is no book. Whoever touches this touches a man.”
— Ezra Pound
books reading writing
View all quotes by Ezra Pound →

Related Quotes

“Oh, Death was never enemy of ours!We laughed at him, we leagued with him, old chum.No soldier's paid to kick against His powers.We laughed, knowing that better men would come,And greater wars: whe...”
— Wilfred Owen
poem war

“I grew up in this town, my poetry was born between the hill and the river, it took its voice from the rain, and like the timber, it steeped itself in the forests.”
— Pablo Neruda
poem poetry poets

“It is strange how a scrap of poetry works in the mind and makes the legs move in time to it along the road.”
— Virginia Woolf
poem poems poetry