Poems (Mary Coleridge)/Poem 122

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CXXII AN INSINCERE WISH ADDRESSED TO A BEGGAR
We are not near enough to love, I can but pity all your woe;For wealth has lifted me above, And falsehood set you down below.
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If you were true, we still might be Brothers in something more than name;And were I poor, your love to me Would make our differing bonds the same.
But golden gates between us stretch, Truth opens her forbidding eyes;You can't forget that I am rich, Nor I that you are telling lies.
Love never comes but at love's call, And pity asks for him in vain;Because I cannot give you all, You give me nothing back again.
And you are right with all your wrong, For less than all is nothing too;May Heaven beggar me ere long, And Truth reveal herself to you!
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