Poems by Emily Dickinson, Three Series, Complete · Emily Dickinson
Chapter 3
Chapter 57 of 146 · 1 min read
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!
