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Best Famous Money Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Money poems. This is a select list of the best famous Money poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Money poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of money poems.

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by Philip Larkin | |

Money

 Quarterly, is it, money reproaches me: 
 'Why do you let me lie here wastefully? 
I am all you never had of goods and sex,
 You could get them still by writing a few cheques.
' So I look at others, what they do with theirs: They certainly don't keep it upstairs.
By now they've a second house and car and wife: Clearly money has something to do with life - In fact, they've a lot in common, if you enquire: You can't put off being young until you retire, And however you bank your screw, the money you save Won't in the end buy you more than a shave.
I listen to money singing.
It's like looking down From long French windows at a provincial town, The slums, the canal, the churches ornate and mad In the evening sun.
It is intensely sad.


by Philip Larkin | |

Breadfruit

 Boys dream of native girls who bring breadfruit,
 Whatever they are,
As bribes to teach them how to execute
Sixteen sexual positions on the sand;
This makes them join (the boys) the tennis club,
Jive at the Mecca, use deodorants, and
On Saturdays squire ex-schoolgirls to the pub
 By private car.
Such uncorrected visions end in church Or registrar: A mortgaged semi- with a silver birch; Nippers; the widowed mum; having to scheme With money; illness; age.
So absolute Maturity falls, when old men sit and dream Of naked native girls who bring breadfruit Whatever they are.


by Philip Larkin | |

Homage To A Government

 Next year we are to bring all the soldiers home
For lack of money, and it is all right.
Places they guarded, or kept orderly, We want the money for ourselves at home Instead of working.
And this is all right.
It's hard to say who wanted it to happen, But now it's been decided nobody minds.
The places are a long way off, not here, Which is all right, and from what we hear The soldiers there only made trouble happen.
Next year we shall be easier in our minds.
Next year we shall be living in a country That brought its soldiers home for lack of money.
The statues will be standing in the same Tree-muffled squares, and look nearly the same.
Our children will not know it's a different country.
All we can hope to leave them now is money.


by Philip Larkin | |

Nothing To Be Said

 For nations vague as weed,
For nomads among stones,
Small-statured cross-faced tribes
And cobble-close families
In mill-towns on dark mornings
Life is slow dying.
So are their separate ways Of building, benediction, Measuring love and money Ways of slow dying.
The day spent hunting pig Or holding a garden-party, Hours giving evidence Or birth, advance On death equally slowly.
And saying so to some Means nothing; others it leaves Nothing to be said.


by William Henry Davies | |

Money

 When I had money, money, O!
I knew no joy till I went poor;
For many a false man as a friend
Came knocking all day 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.


by Helen Hunt Jackson | |

An Arctic Quest

 O proudly name their names who bravely sail 
To seek brave lost in Arctic snows and seas! 
Bring money and bring ships, and on strong knees 
Pray prayers so strong that not one word can fail 
To pierce God's listening heart! 
Rigid and pale, 
The lost men's bodies, waiting, drift and freeze; 
Yet shall their solemn dead lips tell to these 
Who find them secrets mighty to prevail 
On farther, darker, icier seas.
I go Alone, unhelped, unprayed-for.
Perishing For years in realms of more than Arctic snow, My heart has lingered.
Will the poor dead thing Be sign to quide past bitter flood and floe, To open sea, some strong heart triumphing?


by Friedrich von Schiller | |

Fortune And Wisdom

 Enraged against a quondam friend,
To Wisdom once proud Fortune said
"I'll give thee treasures without end,
If thou wilt be my friend instead.
" "My choicest gifts to him I gave, And ever blest him with my smile; And yet he ceases not to crave, And calls me niggard all the while.
" "Come, sister, let us friendship vow! So take the money, nothing loth; Why always labor at the plough? Here is enough I'm sure for both!" Sage wisdom laughed,--the prudent elf!-- And wiped her brow, with moisture hot: "There runs thy friend to hang himself,-- Be reconciled--I need thee not!"


by David Herbert Lawrence | |

If You are a Man

 If you are a man, and believe in the destiny of mankind
then say to yourself: we will cease to care
about property and money and mechanical devices,
and open our consciousness to the deep, mysterious life
that we are now cut off from.
The machine shall be abolished from the earth again; it is a mistake that mankind has made; money shall cease to be, and property shall cease to perplex and we will find the way to immediate contact with life and with one another.
To know the moon as we have never known yet she is knowable.
To know a man as we have never known a man, as never yet a man was knowable, yet still shall be.


by David Herbert Lawrence | |

A Sane Revolution

 If you make a revolution, make it for fun,
don't make it in ghastly seriousness,
don't do it in deadly earnest,
do it for fun.
Don't do it because you hate people, do it just to spit in their eye.
Don't do it for the money, do it and be damned to the money.
Don't do it for equality, do it because we've got too much equality and it would be fun to upset the apple-cart and see which way the apples would go a-rolling.
Don't do it for the working classes.
Do it so that we can all of us be little aristocracies on our own and kick our heels like jolly escaped asses.
Don't do it, anyhow, for international Labour.
Labour is the one thing a man has had too much of.
Let's abolish labour, let's have done with labouring! Work can be fun, and men can enjoy it; then it's not labour.
Let's have it so! Let's make a revolution for fun!


by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe | |

AUTHORS.

 OVER the meadows, and down the stream,

And through the garden-walks straying,
He plucks the flowers that fairest seem;

His throbbing heart brooks no delaying.
His maiden then comes--oh, what ecstasy! Thy flowers thou giv'st for one glance of her eye! The gard'ner next door o'er the hedge sees the youth: "I'm not such a fool as that, in good truth; My pleasure is ever to cherish each flower, And see that no birds my fruit e'er devour.
But when 'tis ripe, your money, good neighbour! 'Twas not for nothing I took all this labour!" And such, methinks, are the author-tribe.
The one his pleasures around him strews, That his friends, the public, may reap, if they choose; The other would fain make them all subscribe, 1776.
*


by A S J Tessimond | |

The Children Look At The Parents

 We being so hidden from those who
Have quietly borne and fed us,
How can we answer civilly
Their innocent invitations?

How can we say "we see you
As but-for-God's-grace-ourselves, as
Our caricatures (we yours), with
Time's telescope between us"?

How can we say "you presumed on
The accident of kinship,
Assumed our friendship coatlike,
Not as a badge one fights for"?

How say "and you remembered
The sins of our outlived selves and
Your own forgiveness, buried
The hatchet to slow music;

Shared money but not your secrets;
Will leave as your final legacy
A box double-locked by the spider
Packed with your unsolved problems"?

How say all this without capitals,
Italics, anger or pathos,
To those who have seen from the womb come
Enemies? How not say it?


by A E Housman | |

The New Mistress

 "Oh, sick I am to see you, will you never let me be? 
You may be good for something, but you are not good for me.
Oh, go where you are wanted, for you are not wanted here.
And that was all the farewell when I parted from my dear.
"I will go where I am wanted, to a lady born and bred Who will dress me free for nothing in a uniform of red; She will not be sick to see me if I only keep it clean: I will go where I am wanted for a soldier of the Queen.
"I will go where I am wanted, for the sergeant does not mind; He may be sick to see me but he treats me very kind: He gives me beer and breakfast and a ribbon for my cap, And I never knew a sweetheart spend her money on a chap.
"I will go where I am wanted, where there's room for one or two, And the men are none too many for the work there is to do; Where the standing line wears thinner and the dropping dead lie thick; And the enemies of England they shall see me and be sick.
"


by Ellis Parker Butler | |

The Final Tax

 Said Statesman A to Statesman Z:
“What can we tax that is not paying?
We’re taxing every blessed thing—
Here’s what our people are defraying:

“Tariff tax, income tax,
Tax on retail sales,
Club tax, school tax,
Tax on beers and ales,

“City tax, county tax,
Tax on obligations,
War tax.
wine tax, Tax on corporations, “Brewer tax, sewer tax, Tax on motor cars, Bond tax, stock tax, Tax on liquor bars, “Bridge tax, check tax, Tax on drugs and pills, Gas tax, ticket tax, Tax on gifts in wills, “Poll tax, dog tax, Tax on money loaned, State tax, road tax, Tax on all things owned, “Stamp tax, land tax, Tax on wedding ring, High tax, low tax, Tax on everything!” Said Statesman A to Statesman Z: “That is the list, a pretty bevy; No thing or act that is untaxed; There’s nothing more on which to levy.
” Said Statesman Z to Statesman A: “The deficit each moment waxes; This is no time for us to fail— We will decree a tax on taxes.


by Sir Walter Raleigh | |

The Artist

 The Artist and his Luckless Wife 
They lead a horrid haunted life, 
Surrounded by the things he's made 
That are not wanted by the trade.
The world is very fair to see; The Artist will not let it be; He fiddles with the works of God, And makes them look uncommon odd.
The Artist is an awful man, He does not do the things he can; He does the things he cannot do, And we attend the private view.
The Artist uses honest paint To represent things as they ain't, He then asks money for the time It took to perpetrate the crime.


by | |

Money And The Mare


"Lend me thy mare to ride a mile.
"
"She is lamed, leaping over a stile.
"
"Alack! and I must keep the fair!
I'll give thee money for thy mare.
"
"Oh, oh! say you so?
Money will make the mare to go!"


by | |

Old Chairs To Mend


If I'd as much money as I could spend,
I never would cry old chairs to mend;
Old chairs to mend, old chairs to mend;
I never would cry old chairs to mend.

If I'd as much money as I could tell,
I never would cry old clothes to sell;
Old clothes to sell, old clothes to sell;
I never would cry old clothes to sell.



by | |

Sing A Song Of Sixpence

 

Sing a song of sixpence,
   A pocket full of rye;
Four-and-twenty blackbirds
   Baked in a pie!
When the pie was opened
   The birds began to sing;
Was not that a dainty dish
   To set before the king?
The king was in his counting-house,
   Counting out his money;
The queen was in the parlor,
   Eating bread and honey.

The maid was in the garden,
   Hanging out the clothes;
When down came a blackbird
   And snapped off her nose.


by | |

Young Lambs To Sell


If I'd as much money as I could tell,
I never would cry young lambs to sell;
Young lambs to sell, young lambs to sell;
I never would cry young lambs to sell.



by Ehsan Sehgal | by Ehsan Sehgal. You can read it on PoetrySoup.com' st_url='http://www.poetrysoup.com/famous/poem/23345/Beloveds_Heart' st_title='Beloved's Heart'>|

Beloved's Heart

"Love for beloved can not be exchanged like money everywhere, it belongs to only the kingdom of beloved's heart, un-exchangeable.
" Ehsan Sehgal


by Ben Jonson | |

On a Robbery


VIII.
 ? ON A ROBBERY.
  
RIDWAY robb'd DUNCOTE of three hundred pound,
    Ridway was ta'en, arraign'd, condemn'd to die ;
But, for this money, was a courtier found,
    Begg'd Ridway's pardon :  Duncote now doth cry,
Robb'd both of money, and the law's relief,
    ? The courtier is become the greater thief.
?