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!
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Comments about this poem (Envy by Bernard O'Dowd )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
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(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(24 January 1572 - 31 March 1631)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
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