I'm not rich

I am not rich, nay, nor the future heir To sparkling gold or silver heaped on store There is no marble blushing on my floor With thousand varied dies, no gilded chair, No cushions, carpets that by rich are Brought from the Persian land or Turkish shore, There is no menial waiting at my door Attentive to the knell, and all things rare, Born in the remotest regions, that shine in And grace the rich man's hall, are wanting here These are not things that by blind fate hath been Allowed over to the poor man's share: These are not things, these eyes have ever seen, Though their proud names have sounded to this ear!