Classic Poem

How the centurion Martin split his cloak,
Because a beggar shivered in the snow
On Amiens common, very few but know
The dazzling story of that happy stroke:

How in a dream our blessed Saviour spoke,
Wearing the moiety of the mantle: Lo,
Martin the catechumen clad me so;
How Martin was baptised when he awoke

To-day along the Loire one sees for miles
The figure of the Saint above the shrine,
The happy country owning with its smiles
The Saint of Tours propitious and benign
The Saint seems still to wear his cloak in half:
Ask for the poor in Tours and people laugh.