Poverty
Henry David Thoreau
1817 to 1862
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A FRAGMENT
If I am poor,
It is that am proud;
If God has made me naked and boor,
He did not think it fit his work shroud.
The poor man comes direct from heaven to earth,
As stars drop down the sky, and tropic beams;
rich receives in our gross air his birth,
As low suns are slanted golden gleams.
Yon sun is naked, bare of satellite,
Unless our earth and moon that hold;
Though his perpetual day feareth no night,
And perennial summer dreads no cold.
Mankind may delve, but my wealth spend;
If I no partial wealth appropriate,
armèd ships unto the Indies send,
None robs me my Orient estate.