Classic Poem

TO-DAY I am a beggar poor,
And pitiful to see,
And take my staff across the moor,
And come, dear heart, to thee,

And knock at thy beloved door, —
What wilt thou give to me?
Take of the shining silver — more
I cannot give to thee.

Of paltry silver, pale and poor,
Give not, my Love, to me.
See, here is gold, a little store,
Yet will I give to thee.

'Twas not the ruddy gold could bring
Me praying to thy door.
Take then this little true-love ring,
And ask me for no more.

Fair is the dainty golden band,
And yet must I implore.
Then with the ring behold the hands;
How can I give thee more?