Poem by Ezra Weston Loomis Pound

A Girl

The tree has entered my hands,
The sap has ascended my arms,
The tree has grown in my breast -
Downward,
The branches grow out of me, like arms.

Tree you are,
Moss you are,
You are violets with wind above them.
A child - so high - you are,
And all this is folly to the world.

1. Erat Hora
2. Ballatetta
3. In a Station of the Metro
4. Portrait d'Une Femme

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