STRAIT river, with its hoarse and feverous flood Of money-makers; on that turbulent tide Hourly men sink, or bring their argosies To unhoped havens. On that tiny stage The day-dream of the dollar is played out In tragic throes that shake the land; there gold Is God, the devotees are hollow-eyed. A touch brings London; at a mystic word The tropics tremble; while an unpraised hand Withers broad grain-fields lovely in the sun A thousand leagues away. Meanwhile, the spire Of Trinity, as set in satire there, Points with insistent finger to the skies Placid above this lust of loss-and-gain, And underneath, the aisles of peace and prayer Await the worshipers who still would place Christ above Mammon, love before the world. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A BALLAD OF SARSFIELD; OR, THE BURSTING OF THE GUNS by AUBREY THOMAS DE VERE IDEA: TO THE READER OF THESE SONNETS, INTRODUCTION by MICHAEL DRAYTON THE GORSE by WILFRID WILSON GIBSON THE TEACHER by LESLIE PINCKNEY HILL PERPLEXITY by LAWRENCE ALMA-TADEMA |