I cried at Pity -- not at Pain --

I cried at Pity -- not at Pain -- I heard a Woman say "Poor Child" -- and something in her voice Convicted me -- of me -- So long I fainted, to myself It seemed the common way, And Health, and Laughter, Curious things -- To look at, like a Toy -- To sometimes hear "Rich people" buy And see the Parcel rolled -- And carried, I supposed -- to Heaven, For children, made of Gold -- But not to touch, or wish for, Or think of, with a sigh -- And so and so -- had been to me, Had God willed differently.…