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...THE HUMAN ABSTRACT, FR. SONGS OF EXPERIENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE THE WATER MILL by SARAH DOUDNEY STRANGE HURT [SHE KNOWS] by JAMES LANGSTON HUGHES SING-SONG; A NURSERY RHYME BOOK: 48 by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI AT THE GRAVE OF BURNS; SEVEN YEARS AFTER HIS DEATH by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH A CREW POEM by EDWARD AUGUSTUS BLOUNT JR. BRITANNIA'S PASTORALS: BOOK 1. THE FOURTH SONG by WILLIAM BROWNE (1591-1643) THE WANDERER: 2. IN FRANCE: SORCERY by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON |