 | Jones Very : The Complete Poems |  |
The Poor
I walk the streets and though not meanly drest,Yet none so poor as can with me compare;
For none though weary call me in to rest,
And though I hunger none their substance share;
I ask not for my stay the broken reed,
That fails when most I want a friendly arm;
I cannot on the loaves and fishes feed,
That want the blessing that they may not harm;
119
From tongues that now but speak to utter death;
I thirst for one cool cup of water clear,
But drink the riled stream of lying breath;
And wander on though in my Father land,
Yet hear no welcome voice, and see no beakoning hand.
Poem No. 280; late 1838–early 1839
| Jones Very : The Complete Poems | |