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Exile’s Letter, by Ezra Pound (extract)

And once again we met, later, at the South bridge head.

And then the crowd broke up -and you went north to San palace.

And if you ask me how I regret that parting?

It is like the flowers falling at spring’s end,

confused, whirled in a tangle.

What is the use of talking! And there is no end of talking-

There is no end of things in the heart.

Original poem by Chinese poet Li Po, traslated by Ezra Pound (1915).

To live on still in love, and yet in vain…

And therefore if to love can be desert,
I am not all unworthy. Cheeks as pale
As these you see, and trembling knees that fail
To bear the burden of a heavy heart,—-
This weary minstrel-life that once was girt
To climb Aornus, and can scarce avail
To pipe now ‘gainst the valley nightingale
A melancholy music,—-why advert
To these things? O Belovèd, it is plain
I am not of thy worth nor for thy place!
And yet, because I love thee, I obtain
From that same love this vindicating grace,
To live on still in love, and yet in vain,—-
To bless thee, yet renounce thee to thy face.

Elisabeth Browning, Sonnets from the Portuguese.

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