The poppy carries into time
Its squalid link with opium,
The rose its colors of the wars.
Who, on the brokers’ trading floors,
Has seen a tulip frenzy? Debt,
Greed, speculation blossom yet,
And in the waxen bud not one
Suggests itself. The frenzy’s done;
If in the morning light the look
Hints still at bubble, if it broke
It would not bankrupt, only say
Enthusiasms have their day.
The morning turban, wide, noon crown,
Quick tangibles, go up and down,
As though mild breezes studied trends,
So our instruction were their ends
A Dow Botanical, where bronze
Is up, gold down, and either warns:
No totem wholly without tribe;
No value some will not ascribe.