Nobody stops at the rich man's door to pass the time of day. <br />Nobody shouts a 'hello!' to him in the good old-fashioned way. <br />Nobody comes to his porch at night and sits in that extra chair <br />And talks till it's time to go to bed. He's all by himself up there. <br />Nobody just happens in to call on the long, cold winter nights. <br />Nobody feels that he's welcome now, though the house is ablaze with lights. <br />And never an unexpected guest will tap at his massive door <br />And stay to tea as he used to do, for his neighborly days are o'er. <br />It's a distant life that the rich man leads and many an hour is glum, <br />For never the neighbors call on him save when they are asked to come. <br />At heart he is just as he used to be and he longs for his friends of old, <br />But they never will venture unbidden there. They're afraid of his wall of gold. <br />For silver and gold in a large amount there's a price that all men must pay, <br />And who will dwell in a rich man's house must live in a lonely way. <br />For once you have builded a fortune vast you will sigh for the friends you knew <br />But never they'll tap at your door again in the way that they used to do.<br /><br />Edgar Albert Guest<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-price-of-riches/
