“Truth is truth: too true it was,
Gold! She hoarded and hugged it first,
Longed for it, leaned o’er it, loved it—
Alas!
Till the humour grew to a head and burst,
And she cried at the final pass.
Talk not of God, my heart is stone!
Nor lover nor friend—be gold for both!
Gold I lack, and, my all, my own....”
R. Browning.