Classic Poem

The man most to be envied
That my eyes ever saw
Fancied he was a king, and wore
A crown of plaited straw.
He lived in regal dignity,
And nothing made him sad—
This happy king! They pitied him,
Merely that he was mad.
And yet the men who mourned with sighs
His lamentable state
Were tortured heart and brain by care
And sorrow's leaden weight.
I thought what strange ideas of life
These suffering people had,
To wish him sane and wretched, when
He was so happy, mad!