The Richness of Poverty

GOD made my spirit somewhat weak and small.
From rich satiety of joy I shrink:
The faintly fragrant wild-rose, faintly pink,
Better I love than garden beauties tall,
Deep-scented, with full-petaled coronal;
Better the hillside brook wherefrom I drink
Than strong sweet wines; and best the twilight brink
And borderland of whatso holds me thrall.

But if life’s pageantry is not for me,
And if I may not reach the mountains dim
That beckon on the blue horizon rim,
No disillusion hath mine eyes defiled,
And I shall enter Paradise heart-free,
With the fresh April wonder of a child.