A LITTLE maid tripped down the street, With ragged coat and ill-shod feet, Carrying with merry grace A basket; her elfin face Was glowing, though her hands were red With cold, as through the snow she sped. Bright little maid that trips along With face of light, and heart of song; O, tell me why you are so gay; "Why—don't you know it's Christmas Day?— I'm going to the poor," she said, In earnest tone; and on she sped. And I looked long as she sped by And wondered if the poor were I! |