cowley-martial

January 29, 2025

To-morrow you will live, you always cry;
In what far country does this morrow lie,
That ’tis so mighty long ere it arrive?
Beyond the Indies does this morrow live?

‘Tis so far fetch’d this morrow, that I fear
‘Twill be both very old and very dear.
To-morrow I will live, the fool does say;
To0-day itself’s too late, the wise liv’d yesterday.

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Thought:

“Who calls me idle? I have thought of her.
Who calls me idle? By God’s truth I’ve seen
The arrowy sunlight in her golden snares.”

Ezra Pound | “Sonnet”

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