I can not bow to woo thee <br />With honey words and flower kisses <br />And the dew of sweet half-truths <br />Fallen on the grass of old quaint love-tales <br />Of broidered days foredone. <br />Nor in the murmurous twilight <br />May I sit below thee, <br />Worshiping in whispers <br />Tremulous as far-heard bells. <br />All these things have I known once <br />And passed <br />In that gay youth I had but yester-year. <br />And that is gone <br />As the shadow of wind. <br />Nay, I can not woo thee thus; <br />But as I am ever swept upward <br />To the centre of all truth <br />So must I bear thee with me <br />Rapt into this great involving flame, <br />Calling ever from the midst thereof, <br />"Follow! Follow!" <br />And in the glory of our meeting <br />Shall the power be reborn. <br />And together in the midst of this power <br />Must we, each outstriving each, <br />Cry eternally: <br />"I come, go thou yet further." <br />And again, "Follow," <br />For we may not tarry.<br /><br />Ezra Pound<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-summons/
