He was the first always: Fortune <br /> Shone bright in his face. <br />I fought for years; with no effort <br /> He conquered the place: <br />We ran; my feet were all beeding, <br /> But he won the race. <br /> <br />Spite of his many successes, <br /> Men loved him the same; <br />My one pale ray of good fortune <br /> Met scoffing and blame. <br />When we erred, they gave him pity, <br /> But me -- only shame. <br /> <br />My home was still in the shadow, <br /> His lay in the sun: <br />I longed in vain: what he asked for <br /> It straightway was done. <br />Once I staked all my heart's treasure, <br /> We played -- and he won. <br /> <br />Yes, and just now I have seen him, <br /> Cold, smiling, and blest, <br />Laid in his coffin. God help me! <br /> While he is at rest, <br />I am cursed still to live: -- even <br /> Death loved him the best.<br /><br />Adelaide Anne Procter<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/envy/
