Tempora

Io! Io! Tamuz!
The Dryad staiids in my court-yard
With plaintive, querulous crying.
(Tamuz. Io! Tamuz!)
Oh, no, she is not crying: 'Tamuz.'
She says, 'May my poems be printed this week?
The god Pan is afraid to ask you,
May my poems be printed this week?'

poem by Ezra Pound
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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