By Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Because of the fullness of what I had
All that I have seems void and vain.
If I had not been happy, I were not sad,
Though my salt is savorless, why complain?
From the ripe perfection of what was mine,
All that is mine seems worse than naught.
Yet I know as I sit in the dark and pine,
No cup could be drained which had not been fraught.
From the throb, and thrill, of a day that was,
The day that now is seems dull with gloom.
Yet I bear its dullness and darkness because
‘Tis but the reaction of glow and bloom.
From the royal feasts which of old was spread
I am starved on the diet which now is mine;
Yet I could not turn hungry from water and bread,
If I had not been sated on fruit and wine.