 | Three Hundred Sonnets |  |
190
WORLDLY.
Idolator of gold, I love thee not;The orbits of our hearts are sphered afar,
In lieu of tuneful sympathies, I wot,
My thoughts and thine are all at utter jar,
Because thou judgest by what men have got,
Heeding but lightly what they do or are:
Alas, for thee! this lust of gold shall mar,
Like leprous stains, the tissue of thy lot,
And drain the natural moisture from thy heart:
Alas! thou heedest not how poor thou art,
Weigh'd in the balances of truth, how vain:
O wrecking mariner, fling out thy freight,
Or founder with the heavily sinking weight,
Those ingots round thy neck of ill-got gain.
| Three Hundred Sonnets | |