Your riches taught me poverty.
Myself a millionnaire
In little wealths, — as girls could boast, —
Till broad as Buenos Ayre,
You drifted your dominions
A different Peru;
And I esteemed all poverty,
For life’s estate with you.
Of mines I little know, myself,
But just the names of gems, —
The colors of the commonest;
And scarce of diadems
So much that, did I meet the queen,
Her glory I should know:
But this must be a different wealth,
To miss it beggars so.
I ‘m sure ‘t is India all day
To those who look on you
Without a stint, without a blame, —
Might I but be the Jew!
I ‘m sure it is Golconda,
Beyond my power to deem, —
To have a smile for mine each day,
How better than a gem!
At least, it solaces to know
That there exists a gold,
Although I prove it just in time
Its distance to behold!
It ‘s far, far treasure to surmise,
And estimate the pearl
That slipped my simple fingers through
While just a girl at school!
Read all of Emily Dickinson's poems · About Emily Dickinson
More by Emily Dickinson
Write poetry? Submit your poem to Poetry Catalog