Ezra Pound

from Women of Trachis

KUPRIS bears trophies away.
Kronos’ Son, Dis and Poseidon,
There is no one
                        shaker unshaken.
Into dust go they all.
Neath Her they must 
                                 give way.

TWO gods fought for a girl,
Battle and dust!
Might of a River with horns
Four bulls together
                              Shall no man tether,
Akheloös neither,
                            lashing through Oneudai
As bow is bent
                        The Theban Cub,
Bacchus’ own, spiked is his club,
HE is God’s Son.
                           Hurled to one bed,
Might of waters like a charge of bulls crashing.
Get a dowsing rod.
Kupris decides
To whom brides

ROCK and wrack,
Horns into back,
Slug, grunt and groan,
                                    Grip through to bone.
Crash and thud
Blows against blood
                                Grip and grind
                                Bull’s head and horn.
BUT the wide-eyed girl on the hill,
Out of it all,
Who shall have her?
To stave her and prove her,
Cowless calf lost,
Hurtled away,
                      prized for a day?