Flippancy, says Elyot in “Private Lives, ”
brings out the acid in damned light
and sweetness of the futile moralists, ” but wives
consider it to be a slight.
You needn’t be an anarchist when making digs
at all the people whom
you dare nor censure as censorious prigs.
but, seeming to be flippant, doom.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem