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Villonaud for This Yule
by Ezra Pound
from A Lume Spento (1908)



Towards the Noel that morte saison


(Christ make the shepherds’ homage dear!)


Then when the grey wolves everychone


Drink of the winds their chill small-beer


And lap o’ the snows food’s gueredon


Then makyth my heart his yule-tide cheer


(Skoal! with the dregs if the clear be gone!)


Wining the ghosts of yester-year.



Ask ye what ghost I dream upon?


(What of the magians’ scented gear?)


The ghosts of dead loves everyone


That make the stark winds reek with fear


Lest love return with the foison sun


And slay the memories that me cheer


(Such as I drink to mine fashion)


Wining the ghosts of yester-year.



Where are the joys my heart had won?


(Saturn and Mars to Zeus drawn near!)


Where are athe lips mine lay upon,


Aye! where are the glances feat and clear


That bade my heart his valor don?
I skoal to the eyes as grey-blown mere


(Who knows whose was athat paragon?)


Wining the ghosts of yester-year.



Prince: ask me not what I have done


Nor what God hath that can me cheer


But ye ask first where the winds are gone


Wineing the ghosts of yester-year.



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