HILDAS BOOK
Pounds very first publication (by E. L. Pound, Wyncote, aged 11 years) was a limerick in the Jenkintown Times-Chronicle about William Jennings Bryan, who had just lost the 1896 presidential election:
There was a young man from the West,
He did what he could for what he thought best;
But election came round,
He found himself drowned,
And the papers will tell you the rest.
Between 1897 and 1900 Pound attended Cheltenham Military Academy, occasionally as a boarder, where he specialised in Latin and the Classics. He made his first trip abroad in the summer of 1898 when he was 13 years old. It was a three-month tour of Europe with his mother and Frances Weston (Aunt Frank), who took him to England, Belgium, Germany, Switzerland and Italy. After attending the academy he may have attended Cheltenham Township High School for a year. In 1901 at the age of 15, he was admitted to the University of Pennsylvanias College of Liberal Arts.
Whilst at the university, he met Hilda Doolittle (later to become the poet known as H.D.), who was the daughter of the professor of astronomy. She followed Pound to Europe in 1908, leaving her family, friends and country behind at great personal risk, to help Pound with developing the Imagism movement in London. In February 1908, Pound asked her father for permission to marry Hilda. Doolittle was a curt man, described as donnish and intimidating. Not impressed by Pounds reputation as a ladies man and his sluggish career start as a poet, often moving from place to place. Doolittles response was dismissive: What! Why youre nothing but a nomad! Pound asked Hilda to marry him in the summer of 1907, and though rejected, he wrote several poems for her between 1905 and 1907, twenty-five of which were later hand-bound and arranged in the following unofficial collection, titled Hildas Book.
Hilda H.D. Doolittle (18861961) was an American poet, novelist, and memoirist known for her association with the Imagist group of poets. She published under the pen name of H.D.
CONTENTS
CHILD OF THE GRASS
Child of the grass
The years pass Above us
Shadows of air All these shall Love us
Winds for our fellows
The browns and the yellows
Of autumn our colors
Now at our lifes morn. Be we well sworn
Neer to grow older
Our spirits be bolder At meeting
Than eer before All the old lore
Of the forests & woodways
Shall aid us: Keep we the bond & seal
Neer shall we feel
Aught of sorrow
Let light flow about thee
As a cloak of air
I STROVE A LITTLE BOOK TO MAKE FOR HER
I strove a little book to make for her,
Quaint bound, as twere in parchment very old,
That all my dearest words of her should hold,
Wherein I speak of mystic wings that whirr
Above me when within my soul do stir
Strange holy longings
That may not be told
Wherein all autumns crimson and fine gold
And wold smells subtle as far-wandered myrrh
Should be as burden to my hearts own song.
I pray thee love these wildered words of mine:
Tho I be weak, is beauty alway strong,
So be they cup-kiss to the mingled wine
That life shall pour for us lifes ways among.
Ecco il libro: for the book is thine.
BEING ALONE WHERE THE WAY WAS FULL OF DUST
Being alone where the way was full of dust, I said
Era mea
In qua terra
Dulce myrrtii floribus
Rosa amoris
Via erroris
Ad te coram veniam.
And afterwards being come to a woodland place where the
sun was warm amid the autumn, my lips, striving to speak for
my heart, formed those words which here follow.
LA DONZELLA BEATA
Soul
Caught in the rose hued mesh
Of oer fair earthly flesh
Stooped you again to bear
This thing for me
And be rare light
For me, gold white
In the shadowy path I tread?
Surely a bolder maid art thou
Than one in tearful fearful longing
That would wait Lily-cinctured
Star-diademed at the gate
Of high heaven crying that I should come
To thee.
THE WINGS
A wondrous holiness hath touched me
And I have felt the whirring of its wings
Above me, Lifting me above all terrene things
As her fingers fluttered into mine
Its wings whirring above me as it passed
I know no thing therelike, lest it be
A lapping wind among the pines
Half shadowed of a hidden moon
A wind that presseth close
and kisseth not
But whirreth, soft as light
Of twilit streams in hidden ways