760
 
Most she touched me by her muteness—
Most she won me by the way
She presented her small figure—
Plea itself—for Charity—
 
Were a Crumb my whole possession—
Were there famine in the land—
Were it my resource from starving—
Could I such a plea withstand—
 
Not upon her knee to thank me
Sank this Beggar from the Sky—
But the Crumb partook—departed—
And returned On High—
 
I supposed—when sudden
Such a Praise began
’Twas as Space sat singing
To herself—and men—
 
’Twas the Winged Beggar—
Afterward I learned
To her Benefactor
Making Gratitude

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