 | Famine |  |
Above, below, without, within,
The earth is mine.
These have their graves,
While I dine off a kingdom or quaff my wine
Of great vineyards with blood manured.
What matter how is procured
My pleasure? Am I not King?
Are not my names
Arrogance, Greed, and Waste?
What traitor dare bring
His basket of blames?
Lo! I eat: let the famish'd be glad!
I am clad
In the purple,—they are but dust:
As the dust in my path when I haste
In my lust
To devour and to waste.
The earth is mine.
These have their graves,
While I dine off a kingdom or quaff my wine
Of great vineyards with blood manured.
What matter how is procured
My pleasure? Am I not King?
Are not my names
Arrogance, Greed, and Waste?
What traitor dare bring
His basket of blames?
Lo! I eat: let the famish'd be glad!
I am clad
In the purple,—they are but dust:
As the dust in my path when I haste
In my lust
To devour and to waste.
| Famine | |