HUGH SELWYN MAUBERLEY: 12 by EZRA POUND

"Daphne with her thighs in bark
Stretches toward me her leafy hands," --
Subjectively. In the stuffed-satin drawing room
I await The Lady Valentine's commands,

Knowing my coat has never been
Of precisely the fashion
To stimulate, in her,
A durable passion;

Doubtful, somewhat, of the value
Of well-gowned approbation
Of literary effort,
But never of The Lady Valentine's vocation:

Poetry, her border of ideas,
The edge, uncertain, but a means of blending
With other strata
Where the lower and higher have ending;

A hook to catch the Lady Jane's attention
A modulation toward the theatre
Also, in the case of revolution,
A possible friend and comforter.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Conduct, on the other hand, the soul
"Which the highest cultures have nourished"
To Fleet St. where
Dr. Johnson flourished;

Beside this thoroughfare
The sale of half-hose has
Long since superseded the cultivation
Of Pierian roses.

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