Sculptor The Gean Tree, white ones, dark red, all bare, Of ivory in its ashes, is the leaves. Green like an olive tree, and flower-like. I paint a piece, I bent the body, I drew the hair. Roses, fair and most pleasant, both red and white I might pluck them, but apart from your thought It is the sadness of every year, The whole world might have some green.

• Ezra Pound