The poem
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.