Poem by Ezra Weston Loomis Pound

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.

1. Invern
2. The Encounter
3. Villonaud for This Yule
4. La Regina Avrillouse
5. La Fraisne

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