MONEY, thou bane of blisse, and source of woe, Whence com'st thou, that thou art so fresh and fine? I know thy parentage is base and low: Man found thee poore and dirtie in a mine. Surely thou didst so little contribute To this great kingdome, which thou now hast got, That he was fain, when thou wert destitute, To digge thee out of thy dark cave and grot. Then, forcing thee, by fire he made thee bright: Nay, thou hast got the face of man; for we Have with our stamp and seal transferred our right; Thou art the man, and man but drosse to thee. Man calleth thee his wealth, who made thee rich; And, while he digs out thee, falls in the ditch. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MISPLACED SYMPATHY by CHARLES FOLLEN ADAMS SHADOWS ON THE WALL by ALEXANDER (ALEKSANDR) ALEXANDROVICH BLOK NATALIA'S RESURRECTION: 26 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT RECOGNITION by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE BY CANDLELIGHT by MARION BRINSON THE WANDERER: 5. IN HOLLAND: AUTUMN by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON |