Come, my songs, let us express our baser passions. <br />Let us express our envy for the man with a steady job and no worry about the future. <br />You are very idle, my songs, <br />I fear you will come to a bad end. <br />You stand about the streets, You loiter at the corners and bus-stops, <br />You do next to nothing at all. <br /> <br />You do not even express our inner nobilitys, <br />You will come to a very bad end. <br /> <br />And I? I have gone half-cracked. <br />I have talked to you so much that I almost see you about me, <br />Insolent little beasts! Shameless! Devoid of clothing! <br /> <br />But you, newest song of the lot, <br />You are not old enough to have done much mischief. <br />I will get you a green coat out of China <br />With dragons worked upon it. <br />I will get you the scarlet silk trousers <br />From the statue of the infant Christ at Santa Maria Novella; <br />Lest they say we are lacking in taste, <br />Or that there is no caste in this family.<br /><br />Ezra Pound<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/further-instructions/
