Classic Poem

My pensioners who daily
Come here to beg their fare,
For all their need dress gaily,
And have a jaunty air.
With " Tira-lira-lira —
Now of your charity,
Pray help the little brethern
Of noble poverty. "

One shines in glossy sable,
One wears a russet coat,
And one who seeks a table
Has red about his throat.
With " Tira-lira-lira " —
Gay waistcoat, speckled vest,
Black cap and fine blue bonnet,
They come so bravely dressed.

To all I gladly scatter
In this their time of need,
Heap bread upon their platter
And ask not for my meed,
But in their jocund spring-time
Their songs give back to me
A thousandfold, my brethern,
Of noble poverty.