588 br br I cried at Pity—not at Pain— br I heard a Woman say br "Poor Child"—and something in her voice br Convicted me—of me— br br So long I fainted, to myself br It seemed the common way, br And Health, and Laughter, Curious things— br To look at, like a Toy— br br To sometimes hear "Rich people" buy br And see the Parcel rolled— br And carried, I supposed—to Heaven, br For children, made of Gold— br br But not to touch, or wish for, br Or think of, with a sigh— br And so and so—had been to me, br Had God willed differently.