430
It would never be Common-more-I said-
Difference-had begun-
Many a bitterness-had been-
But that old sort-was done-
Or-if it sometime-showed-as ’twill-
Upon the Downiest-Morn-
Such bliss-had I-for all the years-
‘Twould give an Easier-pain-
I’d so much joy-I told it-Red-
Upon my simple Cheek-
I felt it publish-in my Eye-
‘Twas needless-any speak-
I walked-as wings-my body bore-
The feet-I former used-
Unnecessary-now to me-
As boots-would be-to Birds-
I put my pleasure all abroad-
I dealth a word of Gold
To every Creature-that I met-
And Dowered-all the World-
When-suddenly-my Riches shrank-
A Goblin-drank my Dew-
My Palaces-dropped tenantless-
Myself-was beggared-too-
I clutched at sounds-
I groped at shapes-
I touched the tops of Films-
I felt the Wilderness roll back
Along my Golden lines-
The Sackcloth-hangs upon the nail-
The Frock I used to wear-
But where my moment of Brocade-
My-drop-of India?
