 | My Sonnets |  |
44
[For what do we, to trade, our best days sell?]
For what do we, to trade, our best days sell?What have we for the hours that we employ
In these dull occupations, but annoy,
And blushes of the mind, not cheek, that tell
How petty are the shifts men hold it well,
For gold, to stoop to? “Nay, but there's the joy,
“The wealth your hands are gaining brings,—alloy,
Has all the happiness man tastes,—'tis well,”
The world says, “with you, if this be your own.”
Alas! alas! what are the pleasures worth,
This gold, that men so thirst for, gives alone?
To tickle our false pride with show, the earth,
To ransack for our palates, shall we give
Our days, when we the life of mind may live?
June 10th, 1843.
| My Sonnets | |