The Fault Of It
Ezra Pound
Some may have blamed us that we cease to speak Of things we spoke of in our verses early, Saying: a lovely voice is such as such; Saying: that lady's eyes were sad last week, Wherein the world's whole joy is born and dies; Saying: she hath this way or that, this much Of grace, this way or that, this much Of grace, this little misericorde; Ask us no further word; If we were proud, then proud to be so wise Ask us no more of all the things ye heard; We may not speak of them, they touch us nearly.
