Classic Poem

I DOLATOR of gold, I love thee not,
The orbits of our hearts are sphered afar,
In lieu of tuneful sympathies, I wot,
My thoughts and thine are all at utter jar,
Because thou judgest by what men have got,
Heeding but lightly what they do, or are:
Alas, for thee! this lust of gold shall mar,
Like leprous stains, the tissue of thy lot,
And drain the natural moisture from thy heart;
Alas! thou reckest not how poor thou art,
Weigh'd in the balances of truth, how vain;
O, wrecking mariner, fling out thy freight,
Or founder with the heavily sinking weight;
No longer dote upon thy treasured gain,
Or quick, and sure to come, the hour shall be,
When MENE TEKEL shall be sentenced thee.