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Ezra Pound - Portrait d`une Femme
Work rating: Medium

Your mind and you are our Sargasso Sea,
         London has swept about you this score years
     And bright ships left you this or that in fee:
         Ideas, old gossip, oddments of all things,
     Strange spars of knowledge and dimmed wares of price.
         Great minds have sought you — lacking someone else.
     You have been second always. Tragical?
         No. You preferred it to the usual thing:
     One dull man, dulling and uxorious,
       One average mind — with one thought less, each year.
   Oh, you are patient, I have seen you sit
       Hours, where something might have floated up.
   And now you pay one. Yes, you richly pay.
       You are a person of some interest, one comes to you
   And takes strange gain away:
       Trophies fished up; some curious suggestion;
   Fact that leads nowhere; and a tale for two,
       Pregnant with mandrakes, or with something else
   That might prove useful and yet never proves,
       That never fits a corner or shows use,
   Or finds its hour upon the loom of days:
       The tarnished, gaudy, wonderful old work;
   Idols and ambergris and rare inlays,
       These are your riches, your great store; and yet
   For all this sea-hoard of deciduous things,
       Strange woods half sodden, and new brighter stuff:
   In the slow float of differing light and deep,
       No! there is nothing! In the whole and all,
   Nothing that`s quite your own.
               Yet this is you.
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