LXXVII

I GAINED it so,

By climbing slow,

By catching at the twigs that grow

Between the bliss and me.

It hung so high,

As well the sky

Attempt by strategy.

I said I gained it,—

This was all.

Look, how I clutch it,

Lest it fall,

And I a pauper go;

Unfitted by an instant’s grace

For the contented beggar’s face

I wore an hour ago.