The Auction

A poem by Edward Dyson

"Who'll bid? Who'll bid?" the question rang
Where throned Death was calling.
I seemed to sense his charnel tang,
Mephitic air appalling;
And every tick I heard the clang
Of his steel hammer falling.

Come great men who upon our earth
Had held a lofty mission,
The spacious ones of lordly birth,
The cunning politician,
And gentlemen of holy worth
Or wondrous erudition.

One buyer in a corner trolls
Beyond the ghastly revel.
He buys by lots or single souls,
His voice is low and level.
And paltry is the price he doles.
The buyer is the Devil!

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