COMPARE

The Poet
by T.E. Hulme
Over a large table, smooth, he leaned in ecstasies,
In a dream.
He had been to woods, and talked and walked with trees
Had left the world
And brought back round globes and stone images
Of gems, colours, hard and definite.
With these he played in a dream,
On a smooth table.

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Further Instructions

by Ezra Pound

COME, my songs, let us express our baser passions.

Let us express our envy for the man with a steady job

and no worry about the future.

You are very idle, my songs;

I fear you will come to a bad end.

You stand about the streets.

You loiter at the corners and bus-stops

You do next to nothing at all.

You do not even express our inner nobilities;

You will come to a very bad end.

And I? I have gone half-cracked.

I have talked to you so much

that I almost see you about me,

Insolent little beasts! Shameless! Devoid of clothing!

But you, newest song of the lot,

You are not old enough to have done much mischief.

I will get you a green coat out of China

With dragons worked upon it.

I will get you the scarlet silk trousers

From the statue of the infant Christ at Santa Maria Novella;

Lest they say we are lacking in taste,

Or that there is no caste in this family.