A mattock high he swung; <br />I watched him at his toil; <br />With never gulp of lung <br />He gashed the ruddy soil. <br />Thought I, I'd give my wealth <br /> To have his health. <br /> <br />With fortune I would part, <br />And privilege resign, <br />Could I but have his heart, <br />And he have mine . . . <br />Then suddenly I knew <br /> My wish was true. <br /> <br />Like him I swung: with awe <br />He marked my steady breath. <br />Then suddenly I saw <br />That he was sick to death. <br />My heart in him was frail <br /> And seemed to fail. <br /> <br />Said I: 'Take back your heart <br />And I will bear with mine. <br />Poor lad! All wealth apart <br />'Tis murder I design, <br />Not all a Nabob's wealth <br /> Is worth your health.'<br /><br />Robert William Service<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/cardiac/
