All your other wares you pushed my way. I refused them. There were things drew praise on every shelf, Obvious merits valued by yourself, Showy things that caused the crowd to stay. I could not have used them. Yet I stayed. I might have made a slip. Private virtues, Cold, secreted hoards of them, my glance Pierced to, by a most unhappy chance, While you stared and bit your nether lip -- That grimace the hurt use. Hoarding these you sinned in subtler ways Of secret worship: "Man but steals my worth at God's replevin. These will gain me great applause in Heaven. I am sure of the Almighty's praise For my connoisseurship!" Nothing -- nothing! Yet I searched. I must Not leave embittered. Then, 'neath humbug, glazed self-satisfaction, Littered gauds of cant, I found retraction Of my verdict. Down among the dust Something surely glittered! @3One lone hour of agony@1, overlaid By this clutter Of the thoughts and acts your world acclaims! One experience; hosts of futile aims; Once that dead heart beat -- your soul was weighed With the words none utter! Men are right to hide such things, and deep -- Battling lonely. Ah, but friend, my friend, -- this gloating stealth, This rich air o'er what you call your wealth! Still so gulled by things so barren, cheap, Profitable only? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...GOOD-BYE DOROTHY GAYLE: OVER THE MACKINAC by KAREN SWENSON THE SERE AND YELLOW LEAF by KAREN SWENSON COLUMBUS by EDWARD EVERETT HALE TO THE PLIOCENE SKULL by FRANCIS BRET HARTE LINES TO MR. WYNCH ON HIS FORTH-FIFTH BIRTHDAY by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD |