Yes, Peter was shaggy, his garments were coarse, He was rough in his fisherman ways, His voice was uncultured, and clumsy, and hoarse, But the voice that one always obeys. There was many a gentleman passing me by, Yet none was so gentle as he; They were soft to the ear, they were fine to the eye, But Peter's the prince for me! Yet Peter was poor, and empty his purse; Three years he was out of his trade; And poverty's surely a terrible curse, So how was he going to aid? Ah, many a rich man has tossed me his gold, A pittance flung out to a slave; But not all the purses in Rome could hold The gift that the fisherman gave! Why, look at me, stranger, alert as a hound; And see me, how high I can leap; And think of those thirty long years on the ground, A tortured and pitiful heap! Why, Peter, he gave me the best that he had, And he gave in a brotherly way. And well you may guess I am wondrously glad That he hadn't a penny that day! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE RIGHT TO DIE by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR A NYMPH'S PASSION by BEN JONSON I LIFT MY CANDLE by ELLEN ANDERSON SONNET: MAN VERSUS ASCETIC. 4 by LOUISA SARAH BEVINGTON INSCRIPTION FOR THE DOOR OF [BROWNRIGG'S] CELL IN NEWGATE by GEORGE CANNING |