Black drips the ooze that you secrete on all
That Honour's burin graves or Love holds dear:
At sacrifice you laugh, at virtue sneer,
And sour rebellion's must, the waking thrall
Would ripen into Freedom, with the gall
Of green suspicion. God of drones, you hear
Mutter of plots in all Success: on seer
And saint behold your own foul motives crawl.
O Gluttony that would but dare not gorge!
Theft of the heart that dreads the handcuff! Hate,
Too cowardly to hurl the bolts you forge!
And Lust that fears to pluck the flowers you smell!
Too low your lintel to seduce the great!
The meanest of the Seven doors of Hell!
Bernard O'Dowd's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Envy by Bernard O'Dowd )
- The Price of Gold, Achill Ladd
- Words i am, george albot
- Yankee go Home, Charles Hice
- Sun Sets, Lore Me34
- Dreams, Kshitiz Gupta
- If Only, Kshitiz Gupta
- Science and Religion, SANDIP GOSWAMI
- ............. Traveling To Meet Minor In.., Is It Poetry
- So Much More, Sandra Feldman
- 157. An Ex's Word Is Easily Broken, John Westlake
Poem of the Day
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(22 March 1941 -)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
- Heather Burns