I'M going up where a poor man dwells In a log house on a side-road Where no one thinks of going. I'll find my way by the gay bluebells, And, when it's dark, by the asphodels That like white stars on the side-road Through deeps of gloom are glowing. The poor man's house has a single chair; Its floors are hard and its walls are bare, And the only wealth that you'll find there Is a cup of wisdom flowing. I'm going up to a rich man's door, To a stone house on the high-road Where marble steps are shining. I'll find my way by the blatant horn, The vineyard's purple, the yellow corn, To the stone house on the high-road Where I at noon am dining. The rich man's house has carven glass And candlesticks of heavy brass And carpets soft as summer grass And walls of rare designing. But should the dawn of a sad day break On my cold heart, on my tired soul, To-day or yet to-morrow, I know whose bread my hands will break; I know whose gifts I'll gladly take To my cold heart and my tired soul If I have need to borrow. The rich man can all things command, But all his gifts are in his hand, And seldom can he understand The lonely heart of sorrow. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MATERNITY by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON POSTHUMOUS by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON TO RICHARD R. WRIGHT - INSTRUCTOR by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON BALLAD OF THE LORDS OF OLD TIME by FRANCOIS VILLON THE FAIRY CHILD by JOHN ANSTER |