The Farthing

Once, at a crowded corner,
Where many people go,
I found a small thing shining —
A coin I did not know.

It was, perhaps, a farthing,
Of brassy metal struck,
But prettily would serve me
As pocket-piece, for luck.

Yet, oh, my dainty farthing
(Small as a silver bit)
When rubbed and warmed and carried
I learn the wealth of it!

For this, my troven trinket
Which in my purse I hold,
Is of no baser metal
Than pure untarnished gold.
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