I don't really want to analyse this poem. It doesn't need any analysis and that is how good poetry should be. I don't want to take it apart with a pseudo intellectual deeper meaning because it conveys its meaning so effortlessly anyway. So here it is. I hope you like it. What it says is exactly how I feel right now.
Just so you know, Ezra Pound's life was full enough for a long time. He helped many of his contemporaries who shot to fame because of his efforts and after the First World War, he lost faith in England and moved to Italy. During the Second World War he strongly voiced his support for the Axis powers which led to his arrest for treason. He suffered a mental breakdown and much torture until he was finally released. He lived the rest of his life in Italy where he is buried.
