English poem
The finely spun, the many-hued, the new, are not for him
by Mary Howitt (1799–1888)
The finely spun, the many-hued, the new, are not for him, He must clothe himself, with thankfulness, in garments soiled and dim.
He sees the children of the rich in chariots gay go by, And “what a heavenly life is their’s,” he sayeth with a sigh.