Poem
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.
One poem every morning.
6,130 poems from Shakespeare to Tupac. Read one a day. Save the ones that stay.
Free on the App Store.