As often as I have been told To disesteem the shining gold In favor of a wayward star That burns to tell us what we are; And since my dust no less refined Than darker ore as yet unmined Will be assayed its final worth Long after the compulsive earth Has it immured, I think it may Not be impertinent to say The heart needs stars to live secure And a little gold to keep it pure!
Imagine someone being lectured, again and again, to stop admiring gold and chase a distant, restless star instead, one that supposedly tells us who we really are. "Remonstrance" is the speaker's polite but stubborn reply. The argument turns on a twist: when we die and are buried, our dust will be tested for its true worth, just like any ore pulled from the ground, and nobody can say now how it will measure up. So, the speaker concludes, it isn't rude to suggest that people need both things. Stars give the heart something to aim at, while a bit of gold keeps it "pure" and grounded.
The mood is light, wry, and a little cheeky. The speaker sounds courteous, almost apologetic ("not impertinent"), yet quietly unmoved by the preachers of pure idealism. The tidy rhymes and the final exclamation point add to the playful confidence of a mild-mannered person who has made up their mind.