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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=391163" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Cino</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Italian Campagna 1309, the open road</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Bah! I have sung women in three cities,<br>But it is all the same;<br>And I will sing of the sun.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Lips, words, and you snare them,<br>Dreams, words, and they are as jewels,<br>Strange spells of old deity,<br>Ravens, nights, allurement:<br>And they are not;<br>Having become the souls of song.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Eyes, dreams, lips, and the night goes.<br>Being upon the road once more,<br>They are not.<br>Forgetful in their towers of our tuneing<br>Once for wind-runeing<br>They dream us-toward and<br>Sighing, say, ``Would Cino,<br>Passionate Cino, of the wrinkling eyes,<br>Gay Cino, of quick laughter,<br>Cino, of the dare, the jibe.<br>Frail Cino, strongest of his tribe<br>That tramp old ways beneath the sun-light,<br>Would Cino of the Luth were here!''</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Once, twice a year---<br>Vaguely thus word they:</div><div style="margin:10px 0">``Cino?'' ``Oh, eh, Cino Polnesi<br>The singer is't you mean?''<br>``Ah yes, passed once our way,<br>A saucy fellow, but . . .<br>(Oh they are all one these vagabonds),<br>Peste! 'tis his own songs?<br>Or some other's that he sings?<br>But *you*, My Lord, how with your city?''</div><div style="margin:10px 0">My you ``My Lord,'' God's pity!<br>And all I knew were out, My Lord, you<br>Were Lack-land Cino, e'en as I am,<br>O Sinistro.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I have sung women in three cities.<br>But it is all one.<br>I will sing of the sun.<br>. . . eh? . . . they mostly had grey eyes,<br>But it is all one, I will sing of the sun.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">``'Pollo Phoibee, old tin pan, you<br>Glory to Zeus' aegis-day,<br>Shield o' steel-blue, th' heaven o'er us<br>Hath for boss thy lustre gay!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Pollo Phoibee, to our way-fare<br>Make thy laugh our wander-lied;<br>Bid thy 'flugence bear away care.<br>Cloud and rain-tears pass they fleet!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Seeking e'er the new-laid rast-way<br>To the gardens of the sun . . .</div><div style="margin:10px 0">* * *</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I have sung women in three cities<br>But it is all one.<br>I will sing of the white birds<br>In the blue waters of heaven,<br>The clouds that are spray to its sea.&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Ezra+Pound">Ezra Pound</a><div class=q>
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Bah! I have sung women in three cities,
But it is all the same;
And I will sing of the sun.

Lips, words, and you snare them,
Dreams, words, and they are as jewels,
Strange spells of old deity,
Ravens, nights,..."></div>
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