Classic Poem

Not to love indeed is pain,
Painful 'tis to be love's thrall,
But to love and love in vain
Is the greatest pain of all.
Vain is learning, genius, wit,
Since men bow alone to gold;
Birth and breeding, lineage old —
All are trampled on by it.

Cursed be he who first to light
Brought this sordid metal, may
He be plunged in endless night,
And his memory fade away.
Gold rends every sacred tie,
Friendship breaks and kindred parts;
Envy breeds, and hardens hearts,
Kindles strife and enmity.
Lust of gold war's ruin brings;
Many a dark crime from it springs.
Worse than this — yea, this is worse,
'Tis the lover's fatal curse.