CONTENTMENT isn't often seen where men have bundles of long green. The more a man requires, it seems, the more does worry haunt his dreams, and every millionaire I know looks like a cheap tintype of woe. I have a friend who once was broke; then he considered life a joke; he filled the air with gladsome song, and no one laughed so loud or long. It was a joy to meet him then; he was a tonic to sad men. But fortune slipped around, by stealth, and loaded him with unearned wealth. He comes to see me now and then—I wish he'd never come again—and talks so much of dole and gloom, of properties that ceased to boom, of plants requiring ready cash, investments which have gone kersmash, the grief that capital endures, the grief no legislature cures—he talks so much along this line, and puts up such a bitter whine, that when he leaves my humble door my feet are chilled, my heart is sore. Your wealth will buy a lot of things; all kinds of luxuries it brings, but you can't take it to the mart, and buy a glad, contented heart. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MILTON; SONNET by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW THREE HUNDRED THOUSAND MORE by ROBERT MORRIS HOW CYRUS LAID THE CABLE [JULY 29, 1866] by JOHN GODFREY SAXE THE VISION OF THE ARCHANGELS by RUPERT BROOKE WHEN SHE CAM BEN, SHE BOBBED by ROBERT BURNS THE LITTLE LADY (A CHILDREN'S SONG) by CH'ING HSI |