I cried at pity - not at pain

I cried at Pity - not at Pain -
I heard a Woman say
"Poor Child" - and something in her voice
ConvictedConvinced me of meof me -

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, Iwe supposed - to Heaven,
For children, made of Gold -

But not to touch, or wish for,
Or think of, with a sigh -
As so and so - had been to meus,
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 -