Cleon has a million acres,
Ne'er a one have I;
Cleon dwelleth in a palace,
In a cottage I.
Cleon hath a dozen fortunes,
Not a penny I;
Yet the poorer of the twain is
Cleon, and not I.
Cleon, true, possesseth acres,
But the landscape I;
Half the charms to me it yieldeth,
Money cannot buy.
Cleon harbors sloth and dullness,
Freshening vigor I;
He in velvet, I in fustian,
Richer man am I.
Cleon is a slave to grandeur,
Free as thought am I;
Cleon fees a score of doctors,
Need of none have I.
Wealth-surrounded, care-environed,
Cleon fears to die.
Death may come, he'll find me ready.
Happier man am I.
Cleon sees no charm in nature,
In a daisy I;
Cleon hears no anthem ringing
In the sea and sky;
Nature sings to me forever,
Earnest listener I!
State for state, with all attendants,
Who would change? Not I.
--Charles Mackay.