From Ezra Pound’s Canto LXXXI: What thou lovest well remains

LIBRETTO
Yet
Ere the season died a-cold
Borne upon a zephyr's shoulder
I rose through the aureate sky
Lawes and Jenkins guard thy rest
Dolmetsch ever be thy guest,
Has he tempered the viol's wood
To enforce both  the grave  and the acute?
Has he curved us the bowl of the lute?
Lawes and Jenkins guard thy rest
Dolmetsch ever be thy guest,
Hast 'ou fashioned so airy a mood
To draw up leaf from the root?
Hast 'ou found  a cloud  so light
As seemed neither mist nor shade?
Then resolve me, tell me aright
If Waller sang or Dowland played.
Your eyen two wol sleye me sodenly
I may the beauté of hem nat susteyene
And for 180 years almost nothing.
Ed ascoltando il leggier mormorio
there came new subtlety of eyes into my tent,
whether of spirit or hypostasis,
but what the blindfold hides
or at carneval
nor any pair showed anger
Saw but the eyes and stance between the eyes,
colour, diastasis,
careless or unaware it had not the
whole tent's room
nor was place for the full 
interpass, penetrate
casting but shade beyond the other lights
sky's clear
night's sea
green of the mountain pool
shone from the unmasked eyes in half-mask's space.
What thou lovest well remains,
the rest is dross
What thou lov'st well shall not be reft from thee
What thou lov'st well is thy true heritage
Whose world, or mine or theirs
or is it of none?
First came the seen, then thus the palpable
Elysium, though it were in the halls of hell,
What thou lovest well is thy true heritage
What thou lov'st well shall not be reft from thee
The ant's a centaur in his dragon world.
Pull down thy vanity, it is not man
Made courage, or made order, or made grace,
Pull down thy vanity, I say pull down.
Learn of the green world what can be thy place
In scaled invention or true artistry,
Pull down thy vanity,
Paquin pull down!
The green casque has outdone your elegance.
"Master thyself, then others shall thee beare"
Pull down thy vanity
Thou art a beaten dog beneath the hail,
A swollen magpie in a fitful sun,
Half black half white
Nor knowst'ou wing from tail
Pull down thy vanity
How mean thy hates
Fostered in falsity,
Pull down thy vanity,
Rathe to destroy, niggard in charity,
Pull down thy vanity,
I say pull down.
But to have done instead of not doing
This is not vanity
To have, with decency, knocked
That a Blunt should open
To have gathered from the air a live tradition
or from a fine old eye the unconquered flame
this is not vanity.
Here error is all in the not done,
all in the diffidence that faltered . . .

June 4: Napoleon Hill

June 4
Napoleon Hill

429.
Persistence is to the character of man as carbon is to steel.
~Napoleon Hill

430.
Procrastination is the bad habit of putting off until the day after tomorrow what should have been done the day before yesterday.
~Napoleon Hill

431.
Reduce your plan to writing. The moment you complete this, you will have definitely given concrete form to the intangible desire.
~Napoleon Hill

June 4: Napoleon Hill

June 4
Napoleon Hill

429.
Persistence is to the character of man as carbon is to steel.
~Napoleon Hill

430.
Procrastination is the bad habit of putting off until the day after tomorrow what should have been done the day before yesterday.
~Napoleon Hill

431.
Reduce your plan to writing. The moment you complete this, you will have definitely given concrete form to the intangible desire.
~Napoleon Hill

Money Matters.05b

June 4: Change

June 4
Change

429.
The love of wicked men converts to fear;
That fear to hate, and hate turns one or both
To worthy danger and deserved death.
~William Shakespeare, Richard II (c. 1595), Act V, scene 1, line 65

430.
All things that we ordained festival,
Turn from their office to black funeral;
Our instruments to melancholy bells,
Our wedding cheer to a sad burial feast,
Our solemn hymns to sullen dirges change,
Our bridal flowers serve for a buried corse,
And all things change them to the contrary.
~William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet (1597), Act IV, scene 5, line 84

431.
I am not so nice,
To change true rules for old inventions.
~William Shakespeare, The Taming of the Shrew (c. 1593-94), Act III, scene 1, line 80

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