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. -Ezra Pound
Friday, October 14, 2011
Monday, October 10, 2011
Thanksgiving weekend
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