An Ode to Trade
"Recent changes in these thoroughfares show that trade is rapidly crowding out vice."—Real Estate Item.
O restless Spirit, from whose cup
All drink, and at whose feet all bow
May I inquire what you are up
To now?
Insatiable, I know, your maw,
And ravenous of old your shrine;
But still, O Trade, you ought to draw
The line.
Our health, our pride, our every breath
Of leisure—do not these suffice?
Ah, tell me not you're also death
On vice.
Ah, tell me not yon gilded hell
That has from boyhood soothed my grief
Must fall into the sere and yellow
leaf;
That dens my wayward comrades know
Must also share this cruel lot:
That every haunt of sin must go
To pot.
I who have seen your roaring marts
Engulf our aristocracy,
Our poets, all who love the arts
But me:
I who have watched your bounteous purse
Seduce, I say, the world's elect—
I, in my clear and ringing verse,
Object.
You've stripped existence to the bone;
You see us of all else bereft;
You know quite well that vice alone
Is left.
You claim our every thought and prayer,
Nor do we grudge the sacrifice.
But worms will turn! You've got to spare
Us vice
