The Street Beggar

Shake not your glossy curls with a “No,” As you sit in the warm and rosy glow ’Twixt your hearth and pictured wall; Ah, my lady, you do not know How folk feel with their feet in the snow, And no bright fire at all.

A sixpence! that you will never miss; See what a baby you have to kiss, Honor and wealth to prove; Ah, my lady, you cannot guess How folk feel in a night like this, With no little child to love.

From house to house I have gone all day,— “Nothing for beggars,” is all they say, Though a banquet waiting stands; Ah, you never have known the way Poor folk feel when their heads are gray And palsy shaking their hands.

For sake of charity say not “No.” I am almost famished,—I cannot go,— I must steal or starve,—and why? Because, my lady, you do not know How folk feel with their feet in the snow, Turned out from your fires to die.