Classic Poem

'T IS the season when we send
Little gifts from friend to friend,
Tablets, kerchiefs without end,
Slender spoons;
Tapers too are popular,
And from Syrian lands afar.
You may get a narrow jar
Full of prunes.

Do I seem to you unkind?
Do I show a stingy mind
If my offering is confined
To my book?
Nay, let others calculate;
'Tis an artifice I hate
When a present is a bait
On a hook?

When the char with greedy eye
Sees the lure go floating by,
He is taken by the fly,
And it's plain
If I do not give at all
To the rich, my purse is small,
So 'tis truly liberal