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Tuesday, November 16, 2010



LIGHTHEARTED I walked into the
          valley wood
     In the time of hyacinths,
Till beauty like a scented cloth
Cast over, stifled me.  I was bound

Motionless and faint of breath
By loveliness that is her own eunuch.

Now pass I the final river
Ignominiously, in a sack, without a sound,
As any peeping Turk to the Bosphorous.


If you're looking for analysis of this and/or the others of Hulme's poetry collected by Ezra Pound in Ripostes, I assembled my thoughts here.  If they're helpful, or if you've got questions, please leave a comment.

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