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. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CONCORD HYMN; SUNG AT COMPLETION OF CONCORD MONUMENT, 1836 by RALPH WALDO EMERSON ON AN OLD MUFF by FREDERICK LOCKER-LAMPSON SUNSET IN THE DEVIL'S GLEN: COUNTY WICKLOW by EDMUND JOHN ARMSTRONG SATIRE: 2 by AULUS PERSIUS FLACCUS SEA-SONG by WILLIAM DRUMMOND BAKER LARABELLE; CANTO FIRST by LEVI BISHOP |