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...THE HUNTING OF THE SNARK: FIT 3. THE BAKER'S TALE by CHARLES LUTWIDGE DODGSON THE DEATH OF HARRISON by NATHANIEL PARKER WILLIS LET NO CHARITABLE HOPE by ELINOR WYLIE THE PLEASURES OF IMAGINATION; A POEM. ENLARGED VERSION: BOOK 3 by MARK AKENSIDE THE GRAVE OF HOMER by ALCAEUS OF MESSENE THE MOTHER-FAITH by EVERARD JACK APPLETON |