I cried at Pity—not at Pain

So long I fainted, to myself

It seemed the common way,

And Health, and Laughter, Curious things —

To look at, like a Toy —

To sometimes hear "Rich people" buy

And see the Parcel rolled —

And carried, I supposed — to Heaven,

For children, made of Gold —

But not to touch, or wish for,

Or think of, with a sigh —

And so and so — had been to me,

Had God willed differently.

I wish I knew that Woman's name —

So when she comes this way,

To hold my life, and hold my ears

For fear I hear her say

She's "sorry I am dead" — again —

Just when the Grave and I —

Have sobbed ourselves almost to sleep,

Our only Lullaby —