| Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). Poetry: A Magazine of Verse. 1912–22. | | | | The Condolence | | By Ezra Pound |
| | From “Contemporania”
| | A mis soledades voy, |
| De mis soledades vengo, |
| Porque por andar conmigo |
| Mi bastan mis pensamientos. |
| Lope de Vega. |
O MY fellow sufferers, songs of my youth, | |
| A lot of asses praise you because you are “virile,” | |
| We, you, I! We are “Red Bloods”! | |
| Imagine it, my fellow sufferers— | |
| Our maleness lifts us out of the ruck. | 5 |
| Who’d have foreseen it? | |
| |
| O my fellow sufferers, we went out under the trees, | |
| We were in especial bored with male stupidity. | |
| We went forth gathering delicate thoughts, | |
| Our “fantastikon” delighted to serve us. | 10 |
| We were not exasperated with women, | |
| for the female is ductile. | |
| |
| And now you hear what is said to us: | |
| We are compared to that sort of person | |
| Who wanders about announcing his sex | 15 |
| As if he had just discovered it. | |
| Let us leave this matter, my songs, | |
| and return to that which concerns us. | | | | |
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