Women, the better part of the sort, seek more time than money;

And what’s he that can dispute, and make them from their preference cease,

Since one wedge of time be not bought by treasures of lands and seas;

And scarecrows yet, when have nothing else, lavish years in beggary?

And yet rich and merry in my vast wealth of time,

I have yet to find one starveling to waste this riches upon –

So that I ape that man with gold laid up to his commission,

Both he and his gold forsaken on a wild isle, with not a dime;

Rich and poor at once, starving in plenty,

With means to happiness, yet far from happy,

With wealth as rich men do envy, yet rotting in scarcity –

And having much to use, yet nothing whereto to apply!

So as my gold in weight grows, so I am oppressed to the ground;

As I have all this time, and not you around!


135 Total Views 2 Views Today

By Sydney Chesterfield on May 22, 2016 · Posted in Letters To Shindara by E.R. Chesterfield, Literary, Poetry

Sorry, comments are closed on this post.