'Tis strange indeed to hear us plead For selling and for buying When yesterday we said: "Away With all good things but dying." The world's ago, and we're agog To have our first brief inning; So let's away through surge and fog However slight the winning. What deeds have sprung from plow and pick! What bank-rolls from tomatoes! No dainty crop of rhetoric Can match one of potatoes. Ye orators of point and pith, Who force the world to heed you, What skeletons you'll journey with Ere it is forced to feed you. A little gold won't mar our grace, A little ease our glory. This world's a better biding place When money clinks its story. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A CHRISTMAS SONG by WILLIAM COX BENNETT THE BOOK TO THE READER by WILLIAM BOSWORTH THE ROBBER by JOHN GARDINER CALKINS BRAINARD PICTOR IGNOTUS by ROBERT BROWNING LETTER TO JOHN GOUDIE, KILMARNOCK by ROBERT BURNS RELEASE by ADA CLARKE CARMICHIEL |