Richard Aldington (whose own accomplishments as a writer of vers
libre qualify him to speak) called the poem "unsurpassed and
unsurpassable," and a writer in the _New Age_ (a literary organ
which has always been strongly opposed to metrical innovations)
called it "one of the finest literary works of art produced in
England during the last ten years." And the rough, stern beauty
of the Anglo-Saxon, we may remark, is at the opposite pole from
that of the Provencal and Italian poets to whom Pound had
previously devoted his attention.

May I for my own self song's truth reckon,
Journey's jargon, how I in harsh days
Hardship endured oft.

But we can notice in "Ripostes" other evidences than of
versatility only; certain poems show Mr. Pound turning to more
modern subjects, as in the "Portrait d'une femme," or the
mordant epigram, "An Object." Many readers are apt to confuse
the maturing of personality with desiccation of the emotions.
There is no desiccation in "Ripostes." This should be evident to
anyone who reads carefully such a poem as "A Girl." We quote it
entire without comment.

The tree has entered my hands,
The sap has ascended my arms,
The tree has grown in my breast--
Downward,
The branches grow out of me, like arms.

Tree you are,