Poemsby Emily Dickinson

III

 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!