The Search

 I bought a young and lovely bride,
 Paying her father gold;
Lamblike she rested by my side,
 As cold as ice is cold.
No love in her could I awake,
 Even for pity's sake.

I bought rich books I could not read,
 And pictures proud and rare;
Reproachfully they seemed to plead
 And hunger for my care;
But to their beauty I was blind,
 Even as is a hind.

The bearded merchants heard my cry:
 'I'll give all I posses
If only, only I can buy
 A little happiness.'
Alas! I sought without avail:
 They had not that for sale.

I gave my riches to the poor
 And dared the desert lone;
Now of God's heaven I am sure
 Though I am rag and bone . . .
Aye, richer than the Aga Khan,
 At last--a happy man.

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