Apropos of hatred modernist poem.

A quick note to the craftsman, those who hate will use their whimpers to destroy, abrade, and remove anything graceful, beautiful and with colour.

We may have dumped our hatreds. They have not.

Come My Cantilations

Come my cantilations,
Let us dump our hatreds into one bunch and be done with them,
Hot sun, clear water, fresh wind,
Let me be free of pavements,
Let me be free of the printers.
Let come beautiful people
Wearing raw silk of good colour,
Let come the graceful speakers,
Let come the ready of wit,
Let come the gay of manner, the insolent and the exulting.
We speak of burnished lakes,
And of dry air, as clear as metal.

Ezra Pound