by Emily Dickinson
760
Most she touched me by her muteness-
Most she won me by the way
She presented her small figure-
Plea itself-for Charity-
Were a Crumb my whole possession-
Were there famine in the land-
Were it my resource from starving-
Could I such a plea withstand-
Not upon her knee to thank me
Sank this Beggar from the Sky-
But the Crumb partook-departed-
And returned On High-
I supposed-when sudden
Such a Praise began
'Twas as Space sat singing
To herself-and men-
'Twas the Winged Beggar-
Afterward I learned
To her Benefactor
Making Gratitude
Last updated June 21, 2015