I crave an ampler, worthier sphere: I'd liefer bleed at every vein Than stifle 'mid these hucksters here, These lying slaves of paltry gain. They eat, they drink; they're every whit As happy as their type, the mole; Large are their bounties -- as the slit Through which they drop the poor man's dole. With pipe in mouth they go their way, With hands in pockets; they are blest With grand digestions: only they Are such hard morsels to digest! The hand that's red with some dark deed, Some giant crime, were white as wool Compared with these sleek saints, whose creed Is paying all their debts in full. Ye clouds that sail to far-off lands, O waft me to what clime ye will! To Lapland's snows, to Lybia's sands, To the world's end -- but onward still! Take me, O clouds! They ne'er look down; But (proof of a discerning mind) One moment hung o'er Hamburg town, The next they leave it leagues behind. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE BLACK REGIMENT by GEORGE HENRY BOKER LOVE NOT by CAROLINE ELIZABETH SARAH SHERIDAN NORTON ODE TO THE WEST WIND by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY IDYLLS OF THE KING: DEDICATION by ALFRED TENNYSON IN MEMORIAM A.H.H.: 30 by ALFRED TENNYSON WRITTEN ON THE DEATH OF OUR BELOVED GENERAL STONEWALL JACKSON by CAROLINE AUGUSTA BALL HINTS OF AN HISTORICAL PLAY TO BE CALLED WILLIAM RUFUS by RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM |