O, I AM Little Peter, Of faubourg La Pucelle; A carrier of water, And messenger, as well; To gain an honest living I've got a clever head; I seldom fill my pocket, But then I get my bread! I have no land nor servants; All equipage I lack; These legs, they are my horses; My funds are on my back. I take the good that's going, Quite certain to be fed; God wills us all a living, And so I get my bread! Before some stately building I place my little stand; No Swiss you need to parley, The master is at hand. Up early in the morning, And late at night to bed, I call the day a good one In which I get my bread! There goes a man of millions, But what is that to me? Who knows but Little Peter Is happier than he? The rich man has his troubles, I often hear it said; He can but eat his mutton, And I -- I get my bread! I've heard my worthy uncle, Before his sad decease, Declare no man is wretched Whose stomach is at peace; And should these fine days vanish, And dark ones come instead, The neighbors love poor Peter, And I shall get my bread! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...NO BABY IN THE HOUSE by CLARA G. DOLLIVER UPON THE DEATH OF SIR ALBERT MORTON'S WIFE by MARCUS VALERIUS MARTIALIS NIGHT LAUGHTER by LEONARD BACON (1887-1954) INTEGRITY by WILLIAM ROSE BENET TO A CRITIC OF TENNYSON by AMBROSE BIERCE IN VINCULIS; SONNETS WRITTEN IN AN IRISH PRISON: A CONVENT WITHOUT GOD by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |