O my fellow sufferers, songs of my youth, <br />A lot of asses praise you because you are 'virile', <br />We, you, I! We are 'Red Bloods'! <br />Imagine it, my fellow sufferers <br />Our maleness lifts us out of the ruck, <br />Who'd have foreseen it? <br /> <br />O my fellow sufferers, we went out under the trees, <br />We were in especial bored with male stupidity. <br />We went forth gathering delicate thoughts, <br />Our ‘fantastikon’ delighted to serve us. <br />We were not exasperated with women, <br />for the female is ductile. <br /> <br />And now you hear what is said to us: <br />We are compared to that sort of person <br />Who wanders about announcing his sex <br />As if he had just discovered it. <br />Let us leave this matter, my songs, <br />and return to that which concerns us.<br /><br />Ezra Pound<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-condolence/
