Poverty Poem by Alcaeus of Mytilene

Poverty



The worst of ills, and hardest to endure,
Past hope, past cure,
Is Penury, who, with her sister-mate
Disorder, soon brings down the loftiest state,
And makes it desolate.
This truth the sage of Sparta told,
Aristodemus old,--
'Wealth makes the man.' On him that's poor,
Proud worth looks down, and honor shuts the door.

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
READ THIS POEM IN OTHER LANGUAGES
Close
Error Success