Pound, Ezra: Erat hora

(Ερατ χώρα)

‘Thank you, whatever comes.' And then she turned

And, as the ray of sun on hanging flowers

Fades when the wind hath lifted them aside,

Went swiftly from me. Nay, whatever comes

One hour was sunlit and the most high gods

May not make boast of any better thing

Than to have watched that hour as it passed.