With the sun and moon on her shoulders,
The star-discs sewn on her coat,
at Li Chiang, the snow range, a wide meadow,
and the dto-mbas face,
by the waters of Stone Drum,
the two aces,
Mint grows at the foot of the Snow Range,
the first moon is the Tigers,
Pheasant calls out of bracken.
—-
Thru the 12 houses of heaven,
seeing the just and unjust, tasting the sweet and the sorry,
Pater Helios turning.
“Mortal praise has no sound in her ear”
And who no longer make gods out of beauty.
This is dying.
Yet to walk with Mozart, Agassiz and Linnaeus,
Here take thy minds space.
And to this garden, Marcella, ever seeking by petal, by leaf-vein,
out of dark, and toward twilight,
And over Li Chiang, the snow range is turquoise.
Rocks world that he saved us for memory.
A thin trace in high air.
And with them Pare, and the men against death....
(Edit: can moderator add a “d” in Ezra Pound)