In a poem about a woman written by a macho guy like Pound, we'd expect a few sexual innuendos or steamy descriptions. Instead we get, basically, a bunch of "facts that go nowhere": mandrakes, ambergris, and "strange woods half sodden." Sodden?! Maybe these are metaphors for something more graphic, but it's pretty hard to tell, and they certainly don't seem very sexy. Yeah, we might be left feeling pretty damp and soggy, but not because this poem's bringing on a heat wave.