The GarretAuthor(s): Ezra PoundSource: Poetry, Vol. 2, No. 1 (Apr., 1913), p. 3Published by: Poetry FoundationStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/20569738 .

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Co ntemporantia

THE GARRET

Come let us pity those who are better off than we are. Come, my friend, and remember

that the rich have butlers and no friends, And we have friends and no butlers. Come let us pity the married and the unmarried.

Dawn enters with little feet like a gilded Pavlova,

And I am near my desire. Nor has life in it aught better Than this hour of clear coolness,

the hour of waking together.

THE GARDEN

En robt de parade. Samain.

Like a skein 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 anemia.

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.

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