Image from page 31 of "The beggar's vision" (1921)
Title: The beggar's vision
Year: 1921 (1920s)
Authors: More, Brookes, 1859-1942 Braithwaite, William Stanley, 1878-1962
Publisher: Boston, The Cornhill Publishing Company
Contributing Library: The Library of Congress
Digitizing Sponsor: Sloan Foundation
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Text Appearing Before Image:
ats gay, Are deftly fashioned from the leaves decay. Now when our tattered vagrant, almost dead.Believed the last word of his life was said.Behold the rosy Dawn, herald of days.Tinted the sky with gold and crimson rays;And the dun clouds, that envy joy and light.Sullenly flitted in the deeps of night;And ere the sun-car rolled with snorting fourFrom flaming stalls, the rain had ceased to pour.Fair on the right a meadow rose to viewWith gentle slope, and winters russet hueShowed where the sickled hay had lately grown;This had been gathered all and neatly thrownIn shapely ricks to weather storm and gale. Forlorn and weary while his weak knees fail.The traveler leaves the wet and muddy w^ay,Reaches at last the nearest mound of hay,And finds warm shelter from the frosty breeze. —Soon, in the languor of sweet slumbers ease,His woes are melted into roseate joys.Lulled in smooth dreams he romps with jolly boys.Or counteth up his golden argosies:Such happy visions dance before his eyes, —
Text Appearing After Image:
W <^yyj r^ti^^-n- THE BEGGARS VISION Joys of his youth, of manhood, of old age;For even if old he deems he is a sage.And motley multitudes to his addressGather for wisdom in a mighty press. Flattered to tears in alchemy of dreams.His tears of joy were turned to sadder streams.Yet even when his visions had been turnedTo things more real, he was unconcerned;For though a beggar he, and rather old.He was a royal tramp and loved not gold.Full of this whim he turned and heaved a sigh,And never dreamed twas time for him to die:Yet so twas written in the scroll of fate:And death was kind — he died in royal state —There he smiled grandly in bespattered rags.Lord of all beggars — so the sad world wags. His hour of death had scarcely passed away,Two farmers found him on his bed of hay;And when they knew the homeless wretch was dead,They tenderly raised his gray and rugged head.They searched his tattered garments hoping thereTo find some token of his loving care.Naught could they find of
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