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.