And Thus In Nineveh

And Thus In Nineveh

 

Aye ! I am a poet and upon my tomb

Shall maidens scatter rose leaves

And men myrtles, ere the night

Slays day with her dark sword.

 

Lo ! this thing is not mine

Nor thine to hinder,

For the custom is full old,

And here in Nineveh have I beheld

Many a singer pass and take his place

In those dim halls where no man troubleth

His sleep or song.

And many a one hath sung his songs

More craftily, more subtle-souled than I ;

And many a one now doth surpass

My wave-worn beauty with his wind of flowers,

Yet am I poet, and upon my tomb

Shall all men scatter rose leaves

Ere the night slay light

With her blue sword.

 

It is not, Raana, that my song rings highest

Or more sweet in tone than any, but that I

Am here a Poet, that doth drink of life

As lesser men drink wine.

 

Ezra Pound

 

La tombe du poète, par Pedro Sáenz Sáenz (1863-1927)