An Immorality

June 11, 1993|By Ezra Pound

Sing we for love and idleness,

Naught else is worth the having.

Though I have been in many

a land,

There is naught else in living.

And I would rather have my

sweet,

Though rose-leaves die of

grieving,

Than do high deeds in Hungary

, To pass all men's believing.

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