Money poems
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Epigram For Wall Street
© Edgar Allan Poe
I'll tell you a plan for gaining wealth,
Better than banking, trade or leases
Take a bank note and fold it up,
And then you will find your money in creases!
Young Bicham
© Andrew Lang
In London city was Bicham born,
He longd strange countries for to see,
But he was taen by a savage Moor,
Who handld him right cruely.
The Devil Of Pope-Fig Island
© Jean de La Fontaine
ON t'other hand an island may be seen,
Where all are hated, cursed, and full of spleen.
We know them by the thinness of their face
Long sleep is quite excluded from their race.
Eclogue:--The Times
© William Barnes
Aye, John, I have, John; an' I ben't afeärd
To own it. Why, who woulden do the seäme?
We shant goo on lik' this long, I can tell ye.
Bread is so high an' wages be so low,
That, after workèn lik' a hoss, you know,
A man can't eärn enough to vill his belly.
The Progress Of Marriage
© Jonathan Swift
So have I seen within a pen,
Young ducklings fostered by a hen;
But when let out, they run and muddle,
As instinct leads them, in a puddle;
The sober hen, not born to swim,
With mournful note clucks round the brim.
Song of the Guitar.
© Bai Juyi
In the tenth year of Yuanhe I was banished and demoted to be assistant official in Jiujiang. In the summer of the next year I was seeing a friend leave Penpu and heard in the midnight from a neighbouring boat a guitar played in the manner of the capital. Upon inquiry, I found that the player had formerly been a dancing-girl there and in her maturity had been married to a merchant. I invited her to my boat to have her play for us. She told me her story, heyday and then unhappiness. Since my departure from the capital I had not felt sad; but that night, after I left her, I began to realize my banishment. And I wrote this long poem - six hundred and twelve characters.
I was bidding a guest farewell, at night on the Xunyang River,
The Captains
© Henry Lawson
The Captains sailed in rotten ships, with often rotten crews,
Because their lands were ignorant and meaner than the ooze;
With money furnished them by Greed, or by ambition mean,
When they had crawled to some pig-faced, pig-hearted king or queen.
Sleep In The Mojave Desert
© Sylvia Plath
Out here there are no hearthstones,
Hot grains, simply. It is dry, dry.
And the air dangerous. Noonday acts queerly
On the mind's eye erecting a line
The Decision Of Fortune
© Anne Kingsmill Finch
Fortune well-Pictur'd on a rolling Globe,
With waving Locks, and thin transparent Robe,
Aurora Leigh: Book Three
© Elizabeth Barrett Browning
"To-day thou girdest up thy loins thyself
And goest where thou wouldest: presently
Others shall gird thee," said the Lord, "to go
Where thou wouldst not." He spoke to Peter thus,
To signify the death which he should die
When crucified head downward.
Hudibras: Part 3 - Canto II
© Samuel Butler
Next him his Son and Heir Apparent
Succeeded, though a lame vicegerent;
Who first laid by the Parliament,
The only crutch on which he leant;
And then sunk underneath the State,
That rode him above horseman's weight.
Eugowra Rocks
© Anonymous
It's all about bold Frank Gardiner with the devil in his eye
He said "We've work before us lads we've got to do or die
So blacken up your faces before the dead of night
And its over by Eugowra Rocks we'll either fall or fight"
The Love Of The Game
© Edgar Albert Guest
There is too much of sighing, and weaving
Of pitiful tales of despair.
The Waterwitch
© Anonymous
A neat little packet from Hobart set sail,
For to cruise round the westard amongst the sperm whale;
Cruising the westard where the stormy winds blow,
Bound away in the Waterwitch to the westard well go.
Don Juan: Canto The Thirteenth
© George Gordon Byron
I now mean to be serious;--it is time,
Since laughter now-a-days is deem'd too serious.
Thirty Years After
© Robert Fuller Murray
Two old St. Andrews men, after a separation of nearly thirty years, meet by chance at a wayside inn. They interchange experiences; and at length one of them, who is an admirer of Mr. Swinburne's Poems and Ballads, speaks as follows:
If you were now a bejant,
And I a first year man,
We'd grind and grub together
Brothers, And A Sermon
© Jean Ingelow
“What, chorus! are you dumb? you should have cried,
‘So good comes out of evil;’” and with that,
As if all pauses it was natural
To seize for songs, his voice broke out again:
The Season
© Alfred Austin
So sings the river through the summer days,
And I, submissive, follow what I praise.
What if my boyish blood would rather stay
Where lawns invite, where bonnibels delay,
Though but a youth and not averse from these,
To conflict called, I abdicate my ease,
