THE cost of it! The waste of it!—this wrings My heart. To barter love for things, things, things! You stand begirt with all your household store, Yet shiver, naked to the very core. Why, ev'n from workhouse wards may come a strain, A song and laugh—you will not sing again. How oft, with shame and pity, have you read Of wretched girls who sell themselves for bread, But who shall win you back to decency Who sold yourself for superfluity? You give your money to the madhouse too, But is the wildest there as mad as you? Upon a dead swan's down the head is pressed That might have known a living lover's breast; And from the gold of life you turned away To build yourself a tomb of yellow clay. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON THE LOSS OF THE ROYAL GEORGE by WILLIAM COWPER THE OL' TUNES by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR THE WIND ON THE HILLS by DORA SIGERSON SHORTER CAROLINA [JANUARY, 1865] by HENRY TIMROD NO SECOND TROY by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS THE BRITISH PHILIPPIC by MARK AKENSIDE IMITATIONS OF SHAKESPEARE: A STORM by JOHN ARMSTRONG |