Envy

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.