An Immorality

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.

by Ezra Pound

Comments (3)

Economy of words and gets right to the point. Doesn't destroy the poem with unnecessary symbols and endless word play etc
Pretty durned good! God bless all poets-MJG.
This is a poem I really enjoy.