Go, dumb-born book, <br />Tell her that sang me once that song of Lawes: <br />Hadst thou but song <br />As thou hast subjects known, <br />Then were there cause in thee that should condone <br />Even my faults that heavy upon me lie <br />And build her glories their longevity. <br />Tell her that sheds <br />Such treasure in the air, <br />Recking naught else but that her graces give <br />Life to the moment, <br />I would bid them live <br />As roses might, in magic amber laid, <br />Red overwrought with orange and all made <br />One substance and one colour <br />Braving time. <br />Tell her that goes <br />With song upon her lips <br />But sings not out the song, nor knows <br />The maker of it, some other mouth, <br />May be as fair as hers, <br />Might, in new ages, gain her worshippers, <br />When our two dusts with Waller's shall be laid, <br />Siftings on siftings in oblivion, <br />Till change hath broken down <br />All things save Beauty alone.<br /><br />Ezra Pound<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/envoi/
