MONEY

By W. H. Davies

WHEN I had money, money, O!

I knew no joy till I went poor;

For many a false man as a friend

Came knocking at my door.

Then felt I like a child that holds

A trumpet that he must not blow

Because a man is dead; I dared

Not speak to let this false world know.

Much have I thought of life, and seen

How poor men’s hearts are ever light;

And how their wives do hum like bees

About their work from morn till night.

So, when I hear these poor ones laugh,

And see the rich ones coldly frown—

Poor men, think I, need not go up

So much as rich men should come down.

When I had money, money, O!

My many friends proved all untrue;

But now I have no money, O!

My friends are real though very few.