To Sundry Poets
“The new ideal, which we called Imagism, . . . an ideal
of form, indifferent to the nature of the subject-matter.”
of form, indifferent to the nature of the subject-matter.”
OF substance for the word,
Of tenet for the creed,
Of meaning to make full the form, you say
There is no need.
Of tenet for the creed,
Of meaning to make full the form, you say
There is no need.
Deep runs the hidden fault,
The undetected slur,
Dark heresy, to hold that word and thought
Need not concur.
The undetected slur,
Dark heresy, to hold that word and thought
Need not concur.
Give me, when verse is given,
Logic too deep to flee,
Logos that sense hears hiding in the wind,
But mind can see.
Logic too deep to flee,
Logos that sense hears hiding in the wind,
But mind can see.
Tell me, when music speaks,
And numbers form and flow,
Something the stars have sung you in your sleep,
Something you know.
And numbers form and flow,
Something the stars have sung you in your sleep,
Something you know.