The Beggar-Man
Abject, stooping, old, and wan,
See yon wretched beggar-man;
Once a father's hopeful heir,
Once a mother's tender care.
When too young to understand
He but scorched his little hand,
By the candle's flaming light
Attracted, dancing, spiral, bright,
Clasping fond her darling round,
A thousand kisses healed the wound.
Now abject, stooping, old, and wan,
No mother tends the beggar-man.
Then nought too good for him to wear,
With cherub face and flaxen hair,
In fancy's choicest gauds arrayed,
Cap of lace with rose to aid,
Milk-white hat and feather blue,
Shoes of red, and coral too
With silver bells to please his ear,
And charm the frequent ready tear.
Now abject, stooping, old, and wan,
Neglected is the beggar-man.
See the boy advance in age,
And learning spreads her useful page;
In vain! for giddy pleasure calls,
And shows the marbles, tops, and balls.
What's learning to the charms of play?
The indulgent tutor must give way.
A heedless wilful dunce, and wild,
The parents' fondness spoiled the child;
The youth in vagrant courses ran;
Now abject, stooping, old, and wan,
Their fondling is the beggar-man.
poem by Charles Lamb
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
The Spaewife
OH, I wad like to ken—to the beggar-wife says I—
Why chops are guid to brander and nane sae guid to fry.
An’ siller, that ’s sae braw to keep, is brawer still to gi’e.
It ’s gey an’ easy spierin’, says the beggar-wife to me.
Oh, I wad like to ken—to the beggar-wife says I—
Hoo a’things come to be whaur we find them when we try,
The lasses in their claes an’ the fishes in the sea.
It ’s gey an’ easy spierin’, says the beggar-wife to me.
Oh, I wad like to ken—to the beggar-wife says I—
Why lads are a’ to sell an’lasses a’ to buy;
An’ naebody for dacency but barely twa or three.
It ’s gey an’ easy spierin’, says the beggar-wife to me.
Oh, I wad like to ken—to the beggar-wife says I—
Gin death’s as shure to men as killin’ is to kye,
Why God has filled the yearth sae fu’ o’ tasty things to pree.
It ’s gey an’ easy spierin’, says the beggar-wife to me.
Oh, I wad like to ken—to the beggar-wife says I—
The reason o’ the cause an’ the wherefore o’ the why,
Wi’ mony anither riddle brings the tear into my e’e.
It ’s gey an’ easy spierin’, says the beggar-wife to me.
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Beggar To Beggar Cried
'TIME to put off the world and go somewhere
And find my health again in the sea air,'
Beggar to beggar cried, being frenzy-struck,
'And make my soul before my pate is bare.-
'And get a comfortable wife and house
To rid me of the devil in my shoes,'
Beggar to beggar cried, being frenzy-struck,
'And the worse devil that is between my thighs.'
And though I'd marry with a comely lass,
She need not be too comely -- let it pass,'
Beggar to beggar cried, being frenzy-struck,
'But there's a devil in a looking-glass.'
'Nor should she be too rich, because the rich
Are driven by wealth as beggars by the itch,'
Beggar to beggar cried, being frenzy-struck,
'And cannot have a humorous happy speech.'
'And there I'll grow respected at my ease,
And hear amid the garden's nightly peace.'
Beggar to beggar cried, being frenzy-struck,
'The wind-blown clamour of the barnacle-geese.'
poem by William Butler Yeats
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Beggar And The Angel
An angel burdened with self-pity
Came out of heaven to a modern city.
He saw a beggar on the street,
Where the tides of traffic meet.
A pair of brass-bound hickory pegs
Brought him his pence instead of legs.
A murky dog by him did lie,
Poodle, in part, his ancestry.
The angel stood and thought upon
This poodle-haunted beggar man.
'My life is grown a bore,' said he,
'One long round of sciamachy;
I think I'll do a little good,
By way of change from angelhood.'
He drew near to the beggar grim,
And gravely thus accosted him:
'How would you like, my friend, to fly
All day through the translucent sky;
To knock at the door of the red leaven,
And even to enter the orthodox heaven?
If you would care to know this joy,
I will surrender my employ,
And take your ills, collect your pelf,
An humble beggar like yourself.
For ages you these joys may know,
While I shall suffer here below;
And in the end we both may gain
Access of pleasure from my pain.'
The stationary vagrant said,
'I do not mind, so go ahead.'
The angel told the heavenly charm,
He felt a wing on either arm;
'Good-day,' he said, 'this floating's queer
If I should want to change next year--?'
'Pull out that feather!' the angel said,
'The one half black and the other half red.'
The cripple cried, 'Before you're through
You may get fagged, and if you do,--'
The angel superciliously--
'My transformed friend, don't think of me.
I shall be happy day and night,
In doing what I think is right.'
'So so,' the feathered beggar said,
'Good-bye, I am just overhead.'
* * * * *
The angel when he grasped the dish,
Began to criticize his wish.
The seat was hard as granite rocks,
His real legs were in the box.
His knees were cramped, his shins were sore,
The lying pegs stuck out before.
In vain he clinked the dish and whined.
The passers-by seemed deaf and blind.
As pious looking as Saint Denis,
An urchin stole his catch-penny.
And even the beggar's drab-fleeced poodle
Began to know him for a noodle.
'It has an uncelestial scent,
The clothing of this mendicant;'
He cried, 'That trickling down my spine
Is anything but hyaline.
This day is like a thousand years:
I'd give an age of sighs and tears
To see with his confectioned grin
One cherub sitting on his chin.
That cripple was by far too sly--
I wish he'd tumble from the sky,
That things might be as they were before;
I really cannot stand much more!'
* * * * *
The beggar in the angel's guise,
Rose far above the smoky skies.
But being a beggar, never saw
The charm of the compelling law
That turned the swinging universe:
'Twas gloomy as an empty purse.
Often with heaven in his head,
He blundered on a planet dead.
And when with an immortal fuss,
He singed his wings at Sirius.
He plucked the feather with his teeth,
The charm was potent and beneath,
He saw the turmoil of the way
Grown wilder at the close of day,
With the sad poodle, can in hand,
The angel still at the old stand.
'My friend,' said the angel, hemming and humming,
'Truly I thought you were never coming.'
'That's an unhandsome thing to say,
Seeing I've only been gone a day.
But there's nothing in all your brazen sky
To match the cock of that poodle's eye.
Take your dish and give me my wings,
'Tis but a fair exchange of things.'
* * * * *
The beggar felt his garment's rot,
The horn ridge of each callous spot;
He clinked his can and was content;
His poverty was permanent.
poem by Duncan Campbell Scott
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Sonnet- God Is Very Just
What mortal sin, a beggar lame would do,
Denied of food and shelter, dress to wear?
He lives at the mercy of Nature too;
Diseases, problems that he cannot bear.
What mortal sins, the blind would dare to do?
They live in darkness, neglected, alone;
In vain, they try to 'see' God's Nature too,
Like you and me, for they are not of stone.
But mortal sins- the ones well-formed much do,
with intact senses, duping God and world;
Yet, Mother Nature seems to help them too;
Into the Pit of Hell, they will be hurled!
The handicapped and beggar will see God,
But not the 'Wholesome, sinful one' from clod.
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Running To Paradise
As I came over Windy Gap
They threw a halfpenny into my cap.
For I am running to paradise;
And all that I need do is to wish
And somebody puts his hand in the dish
To throw me a bit of salted fish:
And there the king is but as the beggar.
My brother Mourteen is worn out
With skelping his big brawling lout,
And I am running to paradise;
A poor life, do what he can,
And though he keep a dog and a gun,
A serving-maid and a serving-man:
And there the king is but as the beggar.
Poor men have grown to be rich men,
And rich men grown to be poor again,
And I am running to paradise;
And many a darling wit's grown dull
That tossed a bare heel when at school,
Now it has filled a old sock full:
And there the king is but as the beggar.
The wind is old and still at play
While I must hurty upon my way.
For I am running to paradise;
Yet never have I lit on a friend
To take my fancy like the wind
That nobody can buy or bind:
And there the king is but as the beggar.
poem by William Butler Yeats
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Beggar
The thought of great social solitude,
The sight of everyone having an attitude,
Being the neglected in the maltittude,
The pity viewed in verisimilitude,
The life of a beggar
His clothes torn and stomarch empty,
Always dancing to their tune,
Exploited and greatly tortured,
His presence mean nothing to them,
Their presence mean everything to him
He walks door to door for livelihood,
They dont walk to him to give life,
He is seeking life everyday,
Yet life does not seek him even one day
The beggar with rolling tears
Life like that of a beggar,
Love like that of a life,
Begging for the conditional love,
Do I have to beg your love?
Like the beggar beg for life,
My determinism flashes through,
Im breaking the steel bars my love,
Loosening the metalic chains off,
Love is love, not to be begged for,
Love is love, not to use each other,
Love is love, no need for persuation,
For so long it is love,
I will never be begging anymore,
Such love will be deceit,
Such truth will be fake,
And such commitment will be futile
Such a lover will be like a beggar,
Such a beloved will be like a lifegiver,
And such their love will be a shame
poem by Gaylord Munemo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Mother, I May Have Been A Naughty Child
Mother, I may have been a naughty child,
But I am your child nevertheless!
You own the world, mother, you are the queen of the world,
And look at me, I go about in the habit of a beggar.
You are bent on neglecting me,
But I love you anyway, it is you, only you that I call upon.
Just as a child runs to his mother even after she has scolded him,
So do I run to you.
How could you push me away from you, mother,
You are my mother, are you not?
Oh, why did you cast me away, mother,
Leave me to play in the dust?
I would have been a better child,
Had only you been a little more kind to me.
I am sad and angry, mother,
I shall go away anywhere my eyes and my feet take me to.
I do not care now whether i live or die now, mother,
I am going away.
poem by Kazi Nazrul Islam
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Images of Hunger
A child weeps on
the bamboo floor
while mother
looks at the empty pot.
Father comes home
from the storm
stooping
like his lonely boat.
poem by Elizabeth Padillo Olesen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Be not a beggar
Avoid seeking aids
Unless in bare needs;
Avoid getting helps
Unless in dire needs.
Provide in equals
To those aids and helps.
You should not afford
To be a beggar.
Offer help and aids
That must not be baits;
Offer gifts and kinds
That should not be a debt.
Your pay out should not be
Less than your receipts.
You cannot afford to be a beggar,
You be not greedy
Which makes you ugly.
Then you aren’t shut
Doors by the dear ones.
You may remain poor
But not a beggar.
Being a beggar
Is worse than a slave.
18 09,2005
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A beggar will always be a beggar even if they give him the whole world as a gift.
The Unheeded Pageant
Ah, who was it coloured that little frock, my child, and covered
your sweet limbs with that little red tunic?
You have come out in the morning to play in the courtyard,
tottering and tumbling as you run.
But who was it coloured that little frock, my child?
What is it makes you laugh, my little life-bud?
Mother smiles at you standing on the threshold.
She claps her hands and her bracelets jingle, and you dance
with your bamboo stick in your hand like a tiny little shepherd.
But what is it makes you laugh, my little life-bud?
O beggar, what do you bed for, clinging to your mother's neck
with both your hands?
O greedy heart, shall I pluck the world like a fruit from the
sky to place it on your little rosy palm?
O beggar, what are you begging for?
The wind carries away in glee the tinkling of your anklet
bells.
The sun smiles and watches your toilet.
The sky watches over you when you sleep in your mother's arms,
and the morning comes tiptoe to your bed and kisses your eyes.
The wind carried away in glee the tinkling of your anklet
bells.
The fairy mistress of dreams is coming towards you, flying
through the twilight sky.
The world-mother keeps her seat by you in your mother's heart.
He who plays his music to the stars is standing at your window
with his flute.
And the fairy mistress of dreams is coming towards you, flying
through the twilight sky.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Sun kept stooping—stooping
152
The Sun kept stooping—stooping—low!
The Hills to meet him rose!
On his side, what Transaction!
On their side, what Repose!
Deeper and deeper grew the stain
Upon the window pane—
Thicker and thicker stood the feet
Until the Tyrian
Was crowded dense with Armies—
So gay, so Brigadier—
That I felt martial stirrings
Who once the Cockade wore—
Charged from my chimney corner—
But Nobody was there!
poem by Emily Dickinson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Twins, The
``Give'' and ``It-shall-be-given-unto-you.''
I.
Grand rough old Martin Luther
Bloomed fables---flowers on furze,
The better the uncouther:
Do roses stick like burrs?
II.
A beggar asked an alms
One day at an abbey-door,
Said Luther; but, seized with qualms,
The abbot replied, ``We're poor!
III.
``Poor, who had plenty once,
``When gifts fell thick as rain:
``But they give us nought, for the nonce,
``And how should we give again?''
IV.
Then the beggar, ``See your sins!
``Of old, unless I err,
``Ye had brothers for inmates, twins,
``Date and Dabitur.
V.
``While Date was in good case
``Dabitur flourished too:
``For Dabitur's lenten face
``No wonder if Date rue.
VI.
``Would ye retrieve the one?
``Try and make plump the other!
``When Date's penance is done,
``Dabitur helps his brother.
VII.
``Only, beware relapse!''
The Abbot hung his head.
This beggar might be perhaps
An angel, Luther said.
poem by Robert Browning
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Twins
"Give" and "It-shall-be-given-unto-you"
I
Grand rough old Martin Luther
Bloomed fables-flowers on furze,
The better the uncouther:
Do roses stick like burrs?
II
A beggar asked an alms
One day at an abbey-door,
Said Luther; but, seized with qualms,
The abbot replied, "We're poor!"
III
"Poor, who had plenty once,
When gifts fell thick as rain:
But they give us nought, for the nonce,
And now should we give again?"
IV
Then the beggar, "See your sins!
Of old, unless I err,
Ye had brothers for inmates, twins,
Date and Dabitur.
V
"While Date was in good case
Dabitur flourished too:
For Dabitur's lenten face
No wonder if Date rue.
VI
"Would ye retrieve the one?
Try and make plump the other!
When Date's penance is done,
Dabitur helps his brother.
VII
"Only, beware relapse!"
The Abbot hung his head.
This beggar might be perhaps
An angel, Luther said.
poem by Robert Browning from Men and Women (1855)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
Vote! | Copy!
Bible in Poetry: Gospel of St. John (Chapter 9)
Jesus saw a man, blind since birth;
His disciples asked Him, ‘Rabbi,
By whose sins was the man born blind-
His own sins or that of parents’? ’
So, Jesus answered them, ‘Neither.
It is so that the works of God
Be manifested through the man.
The day is meant for all to work;
The night is for slumber and rest.’
‘While in this world, I am the light.’
Then Jesus spat on ground near-by
And mixed the clay with saliva;
He smeared the clay over man’s eyes
And said, ’ Go wash in Siloam Pool! ’
The man did so and got vision.
The beggar was able to see!
The neighbors saw and then remarked,
‘Isn’t this the beggar who was blind? ’
The beggar replied, ‘Yes, I am! ’
They asked, ‘How were your eyes opened? ’
The man described the whole story.
They asked him, ‘Where is Jesus now?
The beggar said, ‘I do not know.’
They brought the man to Pharisees;
Now Jesus did the miracle,
On Sabbath day and all knew that.
The Pharisees queried the man;
They said, ‘This man is not from God!
He does not keep the Sabbath-day.
How can a sinful man do signs?
They asked the beggar’s opinion;
He told them, ‘He is a prophet! ’
The Jews summoned his parents then
And enquired about their son;
His parents said, ‘He was born blind.’
But they didn’t know how he saw then.
They neither knew the healer’s name;
They told them to ask the beggar.
His parents were afraid of Jews;
If anyone believed Jesus,
And acknowledged Him, Messiah,
They were expelled from synagogue.
They called the beggar once again,
And asked him to give praise to God,
For, Jesus was a sinner great!
The man replied, ‘I do not know
If Jesus is a sinner great;
One thing was true that I was blind
And Jesus helped to make me see, ’
They asked him for more details then;
The beggar lost his cool and said,
‘Do you wish to be disciples? ’
They ridiculed the beggar-man
And said, ‘We are Moses’ disciples!
We don’t know where Jesus is from? ’
The man answered them quite bravely,
‘Isn’t it amazing that although,
You do not know who Jesus is,
Yet, He had made me to see then? ’
‘God does not listen to sinners;
If one’s devout, God listens then.
So far no one had given sight
To man who was blind, since his birth.’
‘If Jesus did not come from God,
He wouldn’t do miracles like this.’
They told the man, ‘You’re born in sin;
So, do not try to preach to us.
They drove the beggar-man away!
Then Jesus heard of incident;
He found the beggar-man and asked,
‘Do you believe in Son of Man? ’
He queried, ‘Who is he, tell me
So that, I may believe in Him.’
Then Jesus said, ‘You have seen Him;
The one speaking to you is He! ’
The man believed and worshipped Him.
Then Jesus said, ‘I came in here,
Into this world for judgment just,
And make ones who couldn’t see, to see,
And those who see become so blind.’
Some Pharisees who heard him said,
‘Surely we’re blind, are we not then? ’
Jesus told them, ‘If you were blind,
You wouldn’t have sins, but as you see,
Your sin remains and you are blind! ’
Copyright by Dr John Celes 5-23-2007
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Lady Clare
IT was the time when lilies blow,
And clouds are highest up in air,
Lord Ronald brought a lily-white doe
To give his cousin, Lady Clare.
I trow they did not part in scorn-
Lovers long-betroth'd were they:
They too will wed the morrow morn:
God's blessing on the day !
'He does not love me for my birth,
Nor for my lands so broad and fair;
He loves me for my own true worth,
And that is well,' said Lady Clare.
In there came old Alice the nurse,
Said, 'Who was this that went from thee?'
'It was my cousin,' said Lady Clare,
'To-morrow he weds vith me.'
'O God be thank'd!' said Alice the nurse,
' That all comes round so just and fair:
Lord Ronald is heir of all your lands,
And you are not the Lady Clare.'
'Are ye out of your mind, my nurse, my nurse?'
Said Lady Clare, 'that ye speak so wild?'
'As God's above,' said Alice the nurse,
' I speak the truth: you are my child.
'The old Earl's daughter died at my breast;
I speak the truth, as I live by bread!
I buried her like my own sweet child,
And put my child in her stead.'
'Falsely, falsely have ye done,
O mother,' she said, ' if this be true,
To keep the best man under the sun
So many years from his due.'
'Nay now, my child,' said Alice the nurse,
'But keep the secret for your life,
And all you have will be Lord Ronald's,
When you are man and wife.'
' If I'm a beggar born,' she said,
'I will speak out, for I dare not lie.
Pull off, pull off, the brooch of gold,
And fling the diamond necklace by.'
'Nay now, my child,' said Alice the nurse,
'But keep the secret all ye can.'
She said, ' Not so: but I will know
If there be any faith in man.'
'Nay now, what faith ?' said Alice the nurse,
'The man will cleave unto his right.'
'And he shall have it,' the lady replied,
'Tho' I should die to-night.'
'Yet give one kiss to your mother dear !
Alas, my child, I sinn'd for thee.'
'O mother, mother, mother,' she said,
'So strange it seems to me.
'Yet here's a kiss for my mother dear,
My mother dear, if this be so,
And lay your hand upon my head,
And bless me, mother, ere I go.'
She clad herself in a russet gown,
She was no longer Lady Clare:
She went by dale, and she went by down,
With a single rose in her hair.
The lily-white doe Lord Ronald had brought
Leapt up from where she lay,
Dropt her head in the maiden's hand,
And follow'd her all the way.
Down stept Lord Ronald from his tower:
'O Lady Clare, you shame your worth!
Why come you drest like a village maid,
That are the flower of the earth?'
'If I come drest like a village maid,
I am but as my fortunes are:
I am a beggar born,' she said,
'And not the Lady Clare.'
'Play me no tricks,' said Lord Ronald,
'For I am yours in word and in deed.
Play me no tricks,' said Lord Ronald,
'Your riddle is hard to read.'
O and proudly stood she up !
Her heart within her did not fail:
She look'd into Lord Ronald's eyes,
And told him all her nurse's tale.
He laugh'd a laugh of merry scorn:
He turn'd and kiss'd her where she stood:
'If you are not the heiress born,
And I,' said he, 'the next in blood--
'If you are not the heiress born,
And I,' said he, ' the lawful heir,
We two will wed to-morrow morn,
And you shall still be Lady Clare.'
poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Misplaced Souls
Momma can you still love me my life has gone so bad
With everything you taught me all the things I had
I guess that I forgot the parts the ones you said I'd need
The words you used for me to hear I guess I didn't heed
And now I am a beggar the beggar on the street
I guess I really screwed up this time no place to rest my feet
I'm the beggar on the street the one that you pass by
Disheveled clothes and matted hair so filthy to your eye
Sometimes I wonder how I got here it all came on so fast
One day I was just like you the next I needed gas
My car is where I live sometimes and others its a shack
I know to you I'm filthy and to me you'll turn your back
The sign I carry sometimes reads that I am 'Out of work'
Or maybe it will say to you 'A vet and I will work'
They mean the same I have no cash no assets do I have
A sign that reads 'Will work for food' is all I own or have
It wasn't supposed to be this way my plans and dreams they mattered
But somehow things did not work out the clothes I wear are tattered
The thing I want for others to know is that I'm still their brother
And all I want when said and done is to be home with my mother
poem by Daniel Lloyd Kennedy
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Night's still awake with flexible souls
At the daybreak a drunkard whispers to a beggar's ear
Who's fast asleep on the concrete bed!
'Sorry for the inconvenience brother!
Short of few coins and I want to go back home
As I lost my way last night and slept in a strange place.'
The kind beggar gave him a brand new dollar note
with a big yawn and he's surprised.
He jumped to the first bus and gone.
Now the beggar remembers the friend
Once offered him a drink and he's worried
That he should have given him more.
* A Diamond is a chunk of coal that made good under pressure.
-Anonymous
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A homework
We were told to draw a portrait at our choice
but we were send only words.
The beggar was still there, near the apple-tree in blossom,
punished to count stars or to assist the leaves' death.
I refused my tears and began my homework.
The light was for all and for free,
the beggar was thought the fear's pride.
I took the words and have drawn this poem at my choice.
The apple-tree smiled to the beggar
in this light for all and for free
poem by Clava Ghirca
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Better Be a Beggar
A beggar is not a robber.
He’s not a swindler or a hoarder.
He is as he could not be they.
Being a beggar is not a shame.
(10.04.2011)
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!