What do poets want with gold, <br />Cringing slaves and cushioned ease; <br />Are not crusts and garments old <br />Better for their souls than these? <br /> <br />Gold is but the juggling rod <br />Of a false usurping god, <br />Graven long ago in hell <br />With a sombre stony spell, <br />Working in the world forever. <br />Hate is not so strong to sever <br />Beating human heart from heart. <br />Soul from soul we shrink and part, <br />And no longer hail each other <br />With the ancient name of brother <br />Give the simple poet gold, <br />And his song will die of cold. <br />He must walk with men that reel <br />On the rugged path, and feel <br />Every sacred soul that is <br />Beating very near to his. <br />Simple, human, careless, free, <br />As God made him, he must be: <br />For the sweetest song of bird <br />Is the hidden tenor heard <br />In the dusk, an even-flush, <br />From the forest's inner hush, <br />Of the simple hermit thrush. <br /> <br />What do poets want with love? <br />Flowers that shiver out of hand, <br />And the fervid fruits that prove <br />Only bitter broken sand? <br /> <br />Poets speak of passion best, <br />When their dreams are undistressed, <br />And the sweetest songs are sung, <br />E'er the inner heart is stung. <br />Let them dream; 'tis better so; <br />Ever dream, but never know. <br />If the their spirits once have drained <br />All that goblet crimson-stained, <br />Finding what they dreamed divine, <br />Only earthly sluggish wine, <br />Sooner will the warm lips pale, <br />And the flawless voices fail, <br />Sooner come the drooping wing, <br />And the afterdays that bring, <br />No such songs as did the spring.<br /><br />Archibald Lampman<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/what-do-poets-want-with-gold-2/
