Is Bliss, Then, Such Abyss By Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

 Is bliss, then, such abyss
    I must not put my foot amiss
    For fear I spoil my shoe?

    I’d rather suit my foot
    Than save my boot,
    For yet to buy another pair
    Is possible
    At any fair.

    But bliss is sold just once;
    The patent lost
    None buy it any more.