To Whistler, American Among the verdure, leaves and branches Sway like the winds of God! We, young, are cloaked as travelers To the altar of the highest skies And by your light and laughter we flourish. The shiver of making peace, Perfect as the bird’s sun In the sun’s eye over lakes, My hand upon thy hand Pulled from the breezy mist. In a blue gown covered with showers, Swaying on time’s ways. Who hath spoken like a feather in the full Breeze? Ah! Let us wind the hour through The leafy paths of Ndisho!

• Ezra Pound