Money poems
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Gran Boule
© Henry Van Dyke
A SEAMAN'S TALE OF THE SEA
We men hat go down for a livin' in ships to the sea,
His Gippsland Girl
© William Henry Ogilvie
Now, money was scarce and work was slack
And love to his heart Crept in,
Unofficial
© Edith Nesbit
ONE morning, my heart can remember,
I sat dreaming there,
In the 'governor's' chair
In the office. The month was November,
And the weather a subject for prayer.
At Her Window
© Henry Kendall
There, where the plopping of the guttered rain
Sounds like a heavy footstep in the dark,
Where every shadow thrown by flickering light
Seems like her husband halting at the door,
I say a woman sits, and waits, and sits,
Then trims her fire, and comes to wait again.
When Youre Bad in Your Inside
© Henry Lawson
I REMARKED that man is saddest, and his heart is filled with woe,
When he hasnt any money, and his pants begin to go;
But I think I was mistaken, and there are many times I find
When you do not care a candle if your pants are gone behind;
For a fellow mostly loses all ambition, hope, and pride,
Whento put the matter mildlyhe is bad in his inside.
The Progress Of A Divine: Satire
© Richard Savage
All priests are not the same, be understood!
Priests are, like other folks, some bad, some good.
What's vice or virtue, sure admits no doubt;
Then, clergy, with church mission, or without;
When good, or bad, annex we to your name,
The greater honour, or the greater shame.
Zellen Woones Honey To Buy Zomehat Sweet
© William Barnes
Why, his heart's lik' a popple, so hard as a stwone,
Vor 'tis money, an' money's his ho,
What Have We All Forgotten?
© Henry Lawson
WHAT have we all forgotten, at the break of the seventh year?
With a nation born to the ages and a Bad Time borne on its bier!
Public robbing, and lying that death cannot erase
Private strife and deceptionCover the bad dead face!
Drinking, gambling and madnessCover and bear it away
But what have we all forgotten at the dawn of the seventh day?
Jacob Homniums Hoss
© William Makepeace Thackeray
One sees in Viteall Yard,
Vere pleacemen do resort,
A wenerable hinstitute,
'Tis call'd the Pallis Court.
A gent as got his i on it,
I think 'twill make some sport.
Raschi In Prague
© Emma Lazarus
Raschi of Troyes, the Moon of Israel,
The authoritative Talmudist, returned
The Night
© Ada Cambridge
Watchman, what of the night?
See you a streak of light?
Whither, O Captain of the quest,
The course we steer for Port of Rest?
The Anti-Politician
© Alexander Brome
ome leave thy care, and love thy friend;
Live freely, don't despair,
The Hired Man And Floretty
© James Whitcomb Riley
The Hired Man's supper, which he sat before,
In near reach of the wood-box, the stove-door
And one leaf of the kitchen-table, was
Somewhat belated, and in lifted pause
His dextrous knife was balancing a bit
Of fried mush near the port awaiting it.
Fatherhood
© William Barnes
Let en zit, wi' his dog an' his cat,
Wi' their noses a-turn'd to the vier,
'Bound for the Lord-Knows-Where'
© Henry Lawson
'Where are you going with your horse and bike,
And the townsfolk still at rest?
A Complaint On The Miseries Of Life
© James Thomson
I loathe, O Lord, this life below,
And all its fading fleeting joys;
'Tis a short space that's fill'd with woe,
Which all our bliss by far outweighs.
