Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.
Middle-AgedEzra Pound
“’T
As gold that rains about some buried king.
When tourists frolicking
Stamp on his roof or in the glazing light
Try photographs, wolf down their ale and cakes
And start to inspect some further pyramid;
Their transitory step and merriment,
Drifts through the air, and the sarcophagus
Gains yet another crust
Of useless riches for the occupant,
So I, the fires that lit once dreams
Now over and spent,
Lie dead within four walls
And so now love
Rains down and so enriches some stiff case,
And strews a mind with precious metaphors,
Of my still consciousness
Is full of gilded snow,
To see the brightness of.”