Come, or the stellar tide will slip away, Eastward avoid the hour of its decline, Now! for the needle trembles in my soul! Here have we had our vantage, the good hour. Here we have had our day, your day and mine. Come now, before this power That bears us up, shall turn against the pole. Mock not the flood of stars, the thing's to be. O Love, come now, this land turns evil slowly. The waves bore in, soon will they bear away. The treasure is ours, make we fast land with it. Move we and take the tide, with its next favour, Abide Under some neutral force Until this course turneth aside.
Return to the Ezra Pound library , or . . . Read the next poem; The River Merchant's Wife: A Letter