Pound in June 1918.

Unlike J. Alfred Prufrock, T. S. Eliot was a prophet, once in a way:

The twenty-first century critic will probably be one who knows and admires some of the poems, but who either says: “Pound is primarily a scholar, a translator,” or “Pound’s early verse was beautiful; his later work shows nothing better than the itch for advertisement, a mischievous desire to be annoying, or a childish desire to be original.” There is a third type of reader, rare enough, who has perceived Mr. Pound for some years, who has followed his career intelligently, and who recognizes its consistency.

Eliot wrote...

 
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