 | The Poetry of Real Life |  |
MONEY-THIRST.
Laugh on and sneer, ye money-making crew;Ye who, than wealth, no worthier aims can see:
Sweeter than gold are my day-dreams to me,
Though empty-pursed, yet richer far than you,
Who have no use of yours; oh! tell me, who
Deserves by Wisdom's lips to be called free,
That unto Mammon sells himself, to be
A two-fold thrall, in body and soul too!
He, who to its possession would confine
The ends of Life, the worth of heart and head,
Deserves to taste of nothing more divine
Than Gold can buy: and, in his hour of pain,
To find it turn to what it is, again,
To common dust, like that on which we tread!
| The Poetry of Real Life | |