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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=391202" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Homage To Sextus Propertius - V</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">1<br>Now if ever it is time to cleanse Helicon;<br>to lead Emathian horses afield,<br>And to name over the census of my chiefs in the Roman camp.<br>If I have not the faculty, 'The bare attempt would be praise-worthy.'<br>'In the things of similar magnitude<br>the mere will to act is sufficient.'<br>The primitive ages sang Venus,<br>the last sings of a tumult,<br>And I also will sing war when this matter of a girl is exhausted.<br>I with my beak hauled ashore would proceed in a more stately manner,<br>My Muse is eager to instruct me in a new gamut, or gambetto,<br>Up, up my soul, from your lowly cantilation,<br>put on a timely vigour.<br>Oh august Pierides! Now for a large-mouthed product.<br>Thus:<br>'The Euphrates denies its protection to the Parthian and<br>apologizes for Crassus,'<br>And 'It is, I think, India which now gives necks to your triumph,'<br>And so forth, Augustus. 'Virgin Arabia shakes in her inmost dwelling.'<br>If any land shrink into a distant seacoast,<br>it is a mere postponement of your domination.<br>And I shall follow the camp, I shall be duly celebrated<br>for singing the affairs of your cavalry.<br>May the fates watch over my day.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">2<br>Yet you ask on what account I write so many love-lyrics<br>And whence this soft book comes into my mouth.<br>Neither Calliope nor Apollo sung these things into my ear,<br>My genius is no more than a girl.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">If she with ivory fingers drive a tune through the lyre,<br>We look at the process.<br>How easy the moving fingers; if hair is mussed on her forehead,<br>If she goes in a gleam of Cos, in a slither of dyed stuff,<br>There is a volume in the matter; if her eyelids sink into sleep,<br>There are new jobs for the author;<br>And if she plays with me with her shirt off,<br>We shall construct many Iliads.<br>And whatever she does or says<br>We shall spin long yarns out of nothing.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thus much the fates have allotted me, and if, Maecenas,<br>I were able to lead heroes into armour, I would not,<br>Neither would I warble of Titans, nor of Ossa<br>spiked onto Olympus,<br>Nor of causeways over Pelion,<br>Nor of Thebes in its ancient respectability,<br>nor of Homer's reputation in Pergamus,<br>Nor of Xerxes' two-barreled kingdom, nor of Remus and his royal family,<br>Nor of dignified Carthaginian characters,<br>Nor of Welsh mines and the profit Marus had out of them,<br>I should remember Caesar's affairs . . .<br>for a background,<br>Although Callimachus did without them,<br>and without Theseus,<br>Without an inferno, without Achilles attended of gods,<br>Without Ixion, and without the sons of Menoetius and<br>the Argo and without Jove's grave and the Titans.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And my ventricles do not palpitate to Caesarial ore rotundas,<br>Nor to the tune of the Phrygian fathers.<br>Sailor, of winds; a plowman, concerning his oxen;<br>Soldier, the enumeration of wounds; the sheep-feeder, of ewes;<br>We, in our narrow bed, turning aside from battles:<br>Each man where he can, wearing out the day in his manner.<br>3<br>It is noble to die of love, and honourable to remain<br>uncuckolded for a season.<br>And she speaks ill of light women,<br>and will not praise Homer<br>Because Helen's conduct is 'unsuitable'.</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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Now if ever it is time to cleanse Helicon;
to lead Emathian horses afield,
And to name over the census of my chiefs in the Roman camp.
If I have not the faculty, 'The bare attempt would be praise-worthy.'
'In the things of similar magnitude
the ..."></div>
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