WHEN I have got a goodly wad, I say that wealth's an empty gawd, a cheap, deluding snare; with fluent tongue and aspect wise, I stand around and moralize, and roast the millionaire. I look with sorrow and disdain on those who sweat and strive and strain to get another plunk; I tell them money is but dross, a sordid dream, a total loss, a worthless lot of junk. But when I've had some small reverse, that makes my roll look sick, or worse, on lucre I am bent; I hustle till I melt my fat, and you may see me break a slat, to nail another cent. Forgotten all the platitudes that I dispensed in lofty moods, in times when I was flush; forgotten all the moral saws, and every text that ever was, as I pursue the cush. And when I've made a roll again, I sternly lecture weary men, and chide them for their greed, for striving for the picayune, and say the trail behind them's strewn with morals gone to seed. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WHEN DEATH HAS LOST THE KEY by KENNETH SLADE ALLING THE FRAILTY OF MAN'S LIFE by PHILIP AYRES A CONCEPTION by DAISY MAUD BELLIS A REGULAR GIRL by BERTON BRALEY THE BOOKS I OUGHT TO READ by ABBIE FARWELL BROWN FOR ONE WHO IS SERENE by MARGARET E. BRUNER LINES SUGGESTED BY THE FOURTEENTH OF FEBRUARY (1) by CHARLES STUART CALVERLEY |