One of the least remarked contributions to the first, seismic issue of Wyndham Lewis’s BLAST (June 1914) was ‘Pastoral’, a short poem by Ezra Pound which begins with an act of observation:

The young lady opposite
Has such beautiful hands
That I sit enchanted
While she combs her hair in décolleté.
The speaker goes on to explain that he feels no embarrassment at all in watching the performance so closely.

BUT God forbid that I should gain further acquaintance,
For her laughter frightens even the street hawker
And the alley cat dies of a migraine.1