 | Jones Very : The Complete Poems |  |
The Fig Tree
Thou wilt not give me aught though I am poor,And ask with shivering limbs and hungry cry;
And thinkst that I the winter can endure,
And thou dost not my spirit's wants deny;
But thou art poor; for thou hast nought to give
Of that which is both meat and drink to me;
Thou bidst me on the husks thou feedest live,
And with the rags thou wear'st in comfort be;
The figs my Father bade me on thee seek,
I taste not from thy thorns and brambles high;
He made thee strong, I find thee poor and weak;
He made thee rich, yet thou must of me buy;
Who am but blind, and yet to thee can see;
A servant still, and yet to thee am free.
Poem No. 704; fall 1838–summer 1839
| Jones Very : The Complete Poems | |