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Poem by Jones Very

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 into 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;
I only ask the living word to hear
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 Fatherland,
Yet hear no welcome voice and see no beckoning hand.

Jones Very

Jones Very's other poems:
  1. The New Birth
  2. The Fair Morning
  3. The Grave Yard
  4. To the Fossil Flower
  5. The Clouded Morning

Poems of the other poets with the same name:

  • Letitia Landon The Poor ("Few, save the poor, feel for the poor")

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