Shall I a daily Begger be, For loves sake asking almes of thee? Still shall I crave, and never get A hope of my desired bit? Ah cruell maides! Ile goe my way, Whereas (perchance) my fortunes may Finde out a Threshold or a doore, That may far sooner speed the poore: Where thrice we knock, and none will heare, Cold comfort still I'm sure lives there. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...INLAND by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY A WOMAN'S QUESTION by ADELAIDE ANNE PROCTER THE AUTHOR'S EARNEST CRY AND PRAYER by ROBERT BURNS ON THE RUINS OF ROME by BALDASSARRE CASTIGLIONE AMOURS DE VOYAGE: CANTO 3 by ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH SNOWFLAKE SONG by HILDA CONKLING EPITAPH FOR HIMSELF by EDOUARD JOACHIM CORBIERE |