One walked, hopeful,
Through a new land
With a very beautiful
Treasure in his hand.

A little thing, lovelier
Than I can tell
A toy that his own skill
Had wrought very well.

He saw others selling
For gold many things
That did not have color
Or value, or wings.

But his that had all of them
His bit of song,
It was hardly noticed,
All day long.

At dark he sold it for a price
Small beyond belief,
That would not even buy a meal —
A dull, copper grief.