Ezra Pound

Canto XC

                              Animus humanus amor non est,
                              sed ab ipso amor procedit, et
                              ideo seipso non diligit, sed amore
                              qui seipso procedit.

“From the color the nature
                  & by the nature the sign!”
Beatific spirits welding together
             as in one ash-tree in Ygdrasail.
                   Baucis, Philemon.
Castalia is the name of that fount in the hill’s fold.
                    the sea below,
                                          narrow beach.
Templum aedificans, not yet marble,
And from the San Ku
           to the room in Poitiers where one can stand
                      casting no shadow,
That is Sagetrieb,
                            that is tradition.
Builders had kept the proportion,
                   did Jacques de Molay
                         know these proportions!
and was Erigina ours?
                   Moon’s barge over milk-blue water
Kuthera Δειναν 
Kuthera sempiterna
                               Ubi amor, ibi oculus.
Vae qui cogitatis inutile.
            quam in nobis similitudine divinae
                                           reperetur imago.
“Mother Earth in thy lap”
                                         said Randolph 
Ηγαπησε πολυ
liberavit masnatos.
Castalia like the moonlight
                  and the waves rise and fall,
Evita, bee-halls, semina motuum,
                      to parched grass, now is rain
not arrogant from habit,
      but furious from perception,
from under the rubble heap
from the dulled edge beyond pain,

out of Erebus, the deep-lying
      from the wind under the earth,          
from the dulled air and the dust,
by the great flight,
                                               Isis Kuanon
          from the cusp of the moon,
the viper stirs in the dust.
                                        the blue serpent
glides from the rock pool
        And they take lights now down to the water
the lamps float from the rowers
      the sea’s claw drawing them outward.
“De fondo” said Juan Ramon,
              like a mermaid, upward,
but the light perpendicular, upward
and to Castalia,
                         water jets from the rock
and in the flat pool as Arethusa’s
                           a hush in papyri.
Grove hath its altar
             under elms, in that temple, in silence
a lone nymph by the pool.
             Wei and Han rushing together
two rivers together
            bright fish and flotsam
torn bough in the flood
                  and the waters clear with the flowing
Out of heaviness where no mind moves at all
            “birds for the mind” said Richardus
“beasts as to body, for know-how”
Gaio! Gaio!
                   To Zeus with six seraphs before him
The architect from the painter,
                    the stone under elm
Taking form now,
                   the rilievi,
            the curled stone at the marge
Faunus, sirenes,
             the stone taking form in the air
             as ferae,       
                                   the great cats approaching.
Pardus, leopardi, Bagheera
             drawn hither from woodland,
woodland Επ  Χθονι
                   the trees rise
               and there is a wide sward between them
Οι  Χθονι Οι myrrh and olibanum on the altar stone
giving perfume,
                         and where was nothing
now is furry assemblage
                  and in the boughs now are voices
grey wing, black wing, black wing shot with crimson
and the umbrella pines
                                    as in Palatine,
as in pineta. Οι  ΧθΟνιΟι
For the procession of Corpus
                          come now banners
comes flute tone.       
to new forest,
             thick smoke, purple, rising
bright flame now on the altar
                    the crystal funnel of air
out of Erebus, the delivered,
                Tyro, Alcmene, free now, ascending
e i cavalieri,
no shades more,
                           lights among them, enkindled,
and the dark shade of courage
                    bowed still with the wrongs of Aegisthus.
Trees die & the dream remains
                         Not love but that love flows from it
                         ex animo
                         & cannot ergo delight in itself
                         but only in the love flowing from it.
                   UBI AMOR IBI OCULUS EST.