To The Raphaelite Latinists
Ezra Pound
Ye fellowship that sing the woods and spring,
Poets of joy that sing the day's delight,
Poets of youth that 'neath the aisles of night
Your flowers and sighs against the lintels fling;
Who rose and myrtle in your garlands bring
To marble altars, though their gods took flight
Long ere your dream-shot eyes drank summer light
And wine of old time myth and vintaging,
Take of our praise one cup, though thin the wine
That Bacchus may not bless nor Pan outpour:
Though reed pipe and the lyre be names upon
The wind, and moon-lit dreams be quite out-gone
From ways we tread, one cup to names ye bore,
One wreath from ashes of your songs we twine!
