Enough. By Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

God gave a loaf to every bird,
    But just a crumb to me;
    I dare not eat it, though I starve, —
    My poignant luxury
    To own it, touch it, prove the feat
    That made the pellet mine, —
    Too happy in my sparrow chance
    For ampler coveting.

    It might be famine all around,
    I could not miss an ear,
    Such plenty smiles upon my board,
    My garner shows so fair.
    I wonder how the rich may feel, —
    An Indiaman — an Earl?
    I deem that I with but a crumb
    Am sovereign of them all.