William Wordsworth: Beggars

 

William Wordsworth

 (1770-1850)

B e g g a r s

She had a tall Man’s height, or more;

No bonnet screen’d her from the heat;

A long drab-colour’d Cloak she wore,

A Mantle reaching to her feet:

What other dress she had I could not know;

Only she wore a Cap that was as white as snow.

In all my walks, through field or town,

Such Figure had I never seen:

Her face was of Egyptian brown:

Fit person was she for a Queen,

o head those ancient Amazonian files:

Or ruling Bandit’s Wife, among the Grecian Isles.

Before me begging did she stand,

Pouring out sorrows like a sea;

Grief after grief:–on English Land

Such woes I knew could never be;

And yet a boon I gave her; for the Creature

Was beautiful to see; a Weed of glorious feature!

I left her, and pursued my way;

And soon before me did espy

A pair of little Boys at play,

Chasing a crimson butterfly;

The Taller follow’d with his hat in hand,

Wreath’d round with yellow flow’rs, the gayest of the land.

The Other wore a rimless crown,

With leaves of laurel stuck about:

And they both follow’d up and down,

Each whooping with a merry shout;

Two Brothers seem’d they, eight and ten years old;

And like that Woman’s face as gold is like to gold.

They bolted on me thus, and lo!

Each ready with a plaintive whine;

Said I, “Not half an hour ago

Your Mother has had alms of mine.”

“That cannot be,” one answer’d, “She is dead.”

“Nay but I gave her pence, and she will buy you bread.”

“She has been dead, Sir, many a day.”

“Sweet Boys, you’re telling me a lie”;

“It was your Mother, as I say–“

And in the twinkling of an eye,

“Come, come!” cried one; and, without more ado,

Off to some other play they both together flew.

 

POEM OF THE WEEK

 

September 21, 2008

kemp=mag poetry magazine

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