Classic Poem

GOLDEN-ROD

Beshrew the coinëd gold!—and so take heed,
 Nor palter with the dross to form a god—
 Behold, the dandelion gilds the clod,
 The buttercup adorns the dewy mead!
Doth it not bring contentment to thy greed?—
 Then satiate thine avarice: the sod
 Gleams with illimitable golden-rod,—
 And of a surety thou art rich indeed!

The burnished banner of the summer's prime
 Waves happy mortals to a golden feast
 (The largess rare of yon high Eastern priest!)
Unstained by goaded greed, or shame, or crime.
 Oh, glorious yellow golden-rod!—sublime
 Free-offering to the greatest and the least.