Sara Teasdale

Dust

  When I went to look at what had long been hidden,
   A jewel laid long ago in a secret place,
  I trembled, for I thought to see its dark deep fire—
   But only a pinch of dust blew up in my face.

  I almost gave my life long ago for a thing
   That has gone to dust now, stinging my eyes—
  It is strange how often a heart must be broken
   Before the years can make it wise.