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!