Here you will find thePoemCoitusof poet Ezra Pound
The gilded phaloi of the crocuses are thrusting at the spring air. Here is there naught of dead gods But a procession of festival, A procession, Giulio Romano, Fit for your spirit to dwell in. Dione, your nights are upon us. The dew is upon the leaf. The night about us is restless.
