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. Villonaud for This Yule
2. La Regina Avrillouse
3. Nicotine
4. Cantico del Sole
5. Ione, Dead the Long Year

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