Ezra Pound - The Garden

　　En robe de parade.

　　 Samain

　　Like a skien 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 anaemia.

　　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.

　　-