When this strange world speaks ill of me, With tongues of poison, and unkind – What can I do but seek the poor, And leave my silver mark behind? When I, a silent stranger, make Them wonder if Christ comes again – Have I not found a shilling cure, When suffering from a poisoned brain? One silver shilling, white and clean, Left with a poor man, old or blind – And here I stand, all poison-proof, Till every tongue grows sweet and kind. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TOM O'ROUGHLEY by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS A WHITE ROSE by JOHN BOYLE O'REILLY A CHRYSALIS by MARY EMILY NEELEY BRADLEY SHALL VERMONTERS RAISE SHEEP? by DANIEL LEAVENS CADY OF THE BOY AND THE CRIER by GAIUS VALERIUS CATULLUS |