Page:Not understood - and other poems (IA notunderstoodoth00braciala).pdf/85

---

 

THE AUCTIONEER.

 

ABOVE the chatty, curious crowd
  Is perched the Auctioneer:
His front is bold, his voice is loud,
  His eye is sharp and clear;
He swings his hammer—ere it falls
  The rostrum front upon—
“Now, is there no advance?” he calls;
  “They’re going—going—gone.”

“Who bids for these? they’re up in pairs,
  And those in lots are sold:
There’s sofas, lounges, tables, chairs,
  And pictures, good as gold;
And here are rings—they’re really nice,
  For ladies fair to don—
These must be sold at any price:
  They’re “going—going—gone.”

“Now, gentlemen, for those who read,
  We’ve many a well-bound tome.”
Ah! those are household gods, indeed,
  Which make a “heaven of home.”
Philosophers and Bards, who shed
  Their light on reason’s dawn,
The stores from whence the mind is fed,
  They’re going—going—gone.”