As a white stone in the well's cool deepness - Anna Akhmatova

As a white stone in the well's cool deepness,
There lays in me one wonderful remembrance.
I am not able and don't want to miss this:
It is my torture and my utter gladness.

I think, that he whose look will be directed
Into my eyes, at once will see it whole.
He will become more thoughtful and dejected
Than someone, hearing a story of a dole.

I knew: the gods turned once, in their madness,
Men into things, not killing humane senses.
You've been turned in to my reminiscences
To make eternal the unearthly sadness.


Anna Akhmatova

Ballad for Gloom - Ezra Pound

For God, our God is a gallant foe
That playeth behind the veil.

I have loved my God as a child at heart
That seeketh deep bosoms for rest,
I have loved my God as a maid to man—
But lo, this thing is best:

To love your God as a gallant foe that plays behind the veil;
To meet your God as the night winds meet beyond Arcturus' pale.

I have played with God for a woman,
I have staked with my God for truth,
I have lost to my God as a man, clear-eyed—
His dice be not of ruth.

For I am made as a naked blade,
But hear ye this thing in sooth:

Who loseth to God as man to man
Shall win at the turn of the game.
I have drawn my blade where the lightnings meet
But the ending is the same:
Who loseth to God as the sword blades lose
Shall win at the end of the game.

For God, our God is a gallant foe that playeth behind the veil.
Whom God deigns not to overthrow hath need of triple mail.


Ezra Pound

Sonet 12 - William Alexander

Sweet blushing goddesse of the golden morning,
Faire patronesse of all the worlds affaires,
Thou art become so carelesse of my cares,
That I must name thee goddesse of my mourning.
Lo how the Sunne part of thy burthen beares,
And whil'st thou doest in pearly drops regrate,
As t'were to pitie thy distressed state,
Exhales the Christall of thy glistring teares;
But I poure forth my vowes before thy shrine,
And whil'st thou dost my louing zeale despise,
Do drowne my heart in th'ocean of mine eyes;
Yet daign'st thou not to drie these teares of mine,
Vnlesse it be with th' Ætna of desires,
Which euen amidst those floods doth foster fires.


William Alexander