The Poetry Corner

The Beggar.

By Robert Herrick

Shall I a daily beggar be, For love's sake asking alms of thee? Still shall I crave, and never get A hope of my desired bit? Ah, cruel maids! I'll go my way, Whereas, perchance, my fortunes may Find out a threshold or a door That may far sooner speed the poor: Where thrice we knock, and none will hear, Cold comfort still I'm sure lives there.