Classic Poem

I HAD a hunger nothing filled;
But pity not, for so 'twas willed:
The Blessed struck from out my palms
Whatever dole of kindly alms!
It was a sign that I must know
How all Earth's unfed children go—
How bravely, for they ply their tasks
Above a want that asks and asks!

I was a singer in the streets,
My song—I timed it to the beats
Of one great heart that shook through all.
Oh, none so quick to hear its call,
Oh, none so pitying of its cry—
Yet none so pitiless as I
Who knew a hunger nothing filled,
Whose inward cry could not be stilled!

It was from hunger that I sang,
My song was of the hunger-pang!
The famished, on each side, drew near,
Among themselves they smiled to hear
So perfectly their want made known!
Their thanks were choral undertone;
For them I broke my song as bread—
They caught the fragments and were fed.

The rich sent bidding to their feasts;
Yet others haled me to their priests
To exorcise that spell unblest
Wherewith they deemed I was oppressed!
But Hunger was my heritage,
And Hunger was my heavenly wage—
To nevermore be satisfied,
To wander singing till I died!