TO blow in wealth I sometimes hanker, on projects labeled "Get rich quick," but ere I blow I see the banker, who hits those projects with a brick. I am an easy mark, I know it; gold bricks to me appear all right, and men with bait come up and show it, and strongly urge that I shall bite. But long ago I made some pledges; I vowed I'd never pay the price of josses, wooden hams or wedges, without the banker's sane advice. Thus I've escaped a thousand dangers, and ills too dark for tongue to tell; I've baffled scores of oily strangers who had pink polar bears to sell. I buy no gold mines in Nebraska, no odds how hard the agent tries; I buy no orchards in Alaska, because the banker puts me wise. He is my refuge and my anchor, when I'm inclined to make mistakes—the good old cautious village banker, who sizes up the snares and fakes. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AVE ATQUE VALE; IN MEMORY OF CHARLES BAUDELAIRE by ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE WELCOME, LITTLE STRANGER (BY A DISPLACED THREE-YEAR-OLD) by CHARLES FOLLEN ADAMS THE POET: A RHAPSODY by MARK AKENSIDE THE CATERPILLAR by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD I'M SADDEST WHEN I SING by THOMAS HAYNES BAYLY |