To love for the sake of being loved is human, but to love for the sake of loving is angelic.
by Robert William Service
'A ticket for the lottery
I've purchased every week,' said she
'For years a score
Though desperately poor am I,
Oh how I've scrimped and scraped to buy
One chance more.
Each week I think I'll gain the prize,
And end my sorrows and my sighs,
For I'll be rich;
Then nevermore I'll eat bread dry,
With icy hands to cry and cry
And stitch and stitch.'
'Tis true she won the premier prize;
It was of formidable size,
Ten million francs.
I know, because the man who sold
It to her splenically told
He got no thanks.
The lucky one was never found,
For she was snugly underground,
And minus breath;
And with that ticket tucked away,
In some old stocking, so they say,
She starved to death.