He was the first always: Fortune Shone bright in his face. I fought for years; with no effort He conquered the place: We ran; my feet were all beeding, But he won the race. Spite of his many successes, Men loved him the same; My one pale ray of good fortune Met scoffing and blame. When we erred, they gave him pity, But me -- only shame. My home was still in the shadow, His lay in the sun: I longed in vain: what he asked for It straightway was done. Once I staked all my heart's treasure, We played -- and he won. Yes, and just now I have seen him, Cold, smiling, and blest, Laid in his coffin. God help me! While he is at rest, I am cursed still to live: -- even Death loved him the best. Adelaide Anne Procter Listen Biography: Adelaide Anne Procter (30 October 1825 – 2 February 1864) was an English poet and philanthropist. She worked prominently on behalf of unemployed women and the homeless, and was actively involved with feminist groups and journa...
