The Garrett

Come, let us pity those who are better off than we are.
Come, my friend, and remember
      t hat the rich have butlers and no friends,
And we have friends and no butlers.
Come, let us pity the married and the unmarried.

Dawn enters with little feet
      like a gilded Pavlova
And I am near my desire.
Nor has life in it aught better
Than this hour of clear coolness
      t he hour of waking together.

poem by Ezra Pound
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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