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As the resident artist at EcoHealth, I pen verse these days inspired by the specter of future pandemics; for my dissertation at Amerika-Institut of LMU München, where I edit a weekly circular on poetry, I'm anatomizing the prosody of E. A. Robinson's sonnets—I also teach English, tutor composition, and lead a literary circle.

20170503

A Virginal

by Ezra Pound

No, no! Go from me. I have left her lately. 
I will not spoil my sheath with lesser brightness,   
For my surrounding air hath a new lightness; 
Slight are her arms, yet they have bound me straitly   
And left me cloaked as with a gauze of æther;   
As with sweet leaves; as with subtle clearness.   
Oh, I have picked up magic in her nearness 
To sheathe me half in half the things that sheathe her.   
No, no! Go from me. I have still the flavour,   
Soft as spring wind that’s come from birchen bowers.   
Green come the shoots, aye April in the branches, 
As winter’s wound with her sleight hand she staunches,   
Hath of the trees a likeness of the savour: 
As white their bark, so white this lady’s hours.

Note:  A recitation can be heard here.

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