The Miser & His Gold

He buried his Gold in a hole.
One saw, and the treasure he stole.
Said another, "What matter?
Don't raise such a clatter,
You can still go & sit by the hole."

Use Alone Gives Value

Walter Crane

Walter Crane was an English artist and book illustrator, considered to be one of the most prolific and influential children's book creators of his generation. Born on August 15, 1845, and passing away on March 14, 1915, he was part of the Arts and Crafts movement and is known for his innovative contributions to children's literature. His work often combined art and poetry, aiming to educate and delight young readers.

Walter Crane

King Log & King Stork

Walter Crane, Simple Poetry

The Three Bears.

Walter Crane, Simple Poetry

The Cat And Venus

Walter Crane, Simple Poetry

Brother & Sister

Walter Crane, Simple Poetry

English

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The Miser Who Had Lost His Treasure.

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'Tis use that constitutes possession.
I ask that sort of men, whose passion
It is to get and never spend,
Of all their toil what is the end?
What they enjoy of all their labours
Which do not equally their neighbours?
Throughout this upper mortal strife,
The miser leads a beggar's life.
Old Aesop's man of hidden treasure
May serve the case to demonstrate.
He had a great estate,
But chose a second life to wait
Ere he began to taste his pleasure.
This man, whom gold so little bless'd,
Was not possessor, but possess'd.
His cash he buried under ground,
Where only might his heart be found;
It being, then, his sole delight
To ponder of it day and night,
And consecrate his rusty pelf,
A sacred offering, to himself.
In...

Jean de La Fontaine

The Burier And His Comrade.

A close-fist had his money hoarded
Beyond the room his till afforded.
His avarice aye growing ranker,
(Whereby his mind of course grew blanker,)
He was perplex'd to choose a banker;
For banker he must have, he thought,
Or all his heap would come to nought.
'I fear,' said he, 'if kept at home,
And other robbers should not come,
It might be equal cause of grief
That I had proved myself the thief.'
The thief! Is to enjoy one's pelf
To rob or steal it from one's self?
My friend, could but my pity reach you,
This lesson I would gladly teach you,
That wealth is weal no longer than
Diffuse and part with it you can:
Without that power, it is a woe.
Would you for age keep back its flow?
Age buried 'neath its joyless snow?
With pains of getting, care...

Jean de La Fontaine

For Where Your Treasure Is, There Will Your Heart Be Also.

    The miser lay on his lonely bed;
            Life's candle was burning dim.
His heart in an iron chest was hid
Under heaps of gold and an iron lid;
    And whether it were alive or dead
            It never troubled him.

    Slowly out of his body he crept.
            He said, "I am just the same!
Only I want my heart in my breast;
I will go and fetch it out of my chest!"
    Through the dark a darker shadow he leapt,
        Saying "Hell is a fabled flame!"

    He opened the lid. Oh, Hell's own night!
        His ghost-eyes saw no gold!--
Empty and swept! Not a gleam was there!
In goes his hand, but the chest is bare!
    Ghost-fingers, aha! have only might
    To close, not to clasp and hold!

    But his heart he saw, and he ...

George MacDonald

The Miser And The Monkey.

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A man amass'd. The thing, we know,
Doth often to a frenzy grow.
No thought had he but of his minted gold -
Stuff void of worth when unemploy'd, I hold.
Now, that this treasure might the safer be,
Our miser's dwelling had the sea
As guard on every side from every thief.
With pleasure, very small in my belief,
But very great in his, he there
Upon his hoard bestow'd his care.
No respite came of everlasting
Recounting, calculating, casting;
For some mistake would always come
To mar and spoil the total sum.
A monkey there, of goodly size, -
And than his lord, I think, more wise, -
Some doubloons from the window threw,
And render'd thus the count untrue.
The padlock'd room permitted
Its owner, when he quitted,
To leave h...

Jean de La Fontaine

The Golden Eggs

A golden Egg, one every day,
That simpleton's Goose used to lay;
So he killed the poor thing,
Swifter fortune to bring,
And dined off his fortune that day.

Greed Overeaches Itself

Walter Crane

Treasure

Here is a tale for infants and old nurses:
There was a man who gathered rags; and peddled:
Who lived alone: with no one ever meddled:
And this old man was very fond of verses.
His house, a ruin, so the tale rehearses;
A hovel over-run of rats and vermin;
Not fit for beast to live in. (Like a sermon
Embodying misery and hell and curses.)
There, one grey dawn of rain and windy weather,
They found him dead; starved; o'er a written paper;
Beside a dim and half-expiring taper:
It was a play, the poor fool'd put together,
Of gnomes and fairies, for his own sad pleasure:
And folks destroyed it, saying, "We seek for treasure."

Madison Julius Cawein