The Garden [from Lustra, 1913-1915]
En robe de parade.
Samain.
Like a skein of loose silk blown against a wall
She walks by the railing of a path in Kensington Gardens,
And she is dying piece-meal
of a sort of emotional anemia.
And round about there is a rabble
Of the filthy, sturdy, unkillable infants of the very poor.
They shall inherit the earth.
In her is the end of breeding.
Her boredom is exquisite and excessive.
She would like some one to speak to her,
And is almost afraid that I
will commit that indiscretion.
* * * * *
Crisis Chronicles Cyber Litmag (2008-2015) 
Read this earlier but am just commenting now… I like Pound…. this particular one is very evocative on several levels… so thanks for posting it.:-)
You’re welcome.
The deeper I delve into the different poets that you’ve posted in (on?) your Library, the hungrier I feel. Pound is really appealing to me right now; maybe it’s because it’s almost Samain (Samhain) now, and the season is right… in all respects. This poem is powerful, and really grabs me. I love the last stanza. What’s crazy is that it is as viable today as it was then, almost a hundred years ago. Wow.
Thank you, Dianne! I wish I could post a broader selection of Pound’s works here, but copyright issues keep me from including anything published after 1922 (he lived from 1885 to 1972, so we’re missing 50 years of his career). But as you see, he wrote some excellent poetry in early days. And in some ways I like his early stuff best anyway.