The Princess was of ancient line, <br /> Of royal race was she; <br />Like cameo her face was fine, <br /> With sad serentiy: <br />Yet bent she toiled with dimming eye, <br /> Her rice and milk to buy. <br /> <br />With lacework that for pity plead, <br /> So out of date it seemed, <br />She sought to make her daily bread, <br /> As of her past she dreamed: <br />And though sometimes I heard her sigh, <br /> I never knew her cry. <br /> <br />Her patient heart was full of hope, <br /> For health she gave God thanks, <br />Till one day in an envelope <br /> I sealed a thousand francs, <br />And 'neath her door for her to see <br /> I slipped it secretly. <br /> <br />'Twas long after, I came to know <br /> My gift she never spent, <br />But gave to one of greater woe, <br /> And wearily she went . . . <br />To be of charity a part,-- <br /> That stabbed her to the heart. <br /> <br />For one dark day we found her dead: <br /> Oh she was sweet to see! <br />Exalted in her garret bed <br /> With face like ivory . . . <br />Aye, though from lack of food she died, <br /> Unflawed she flagged her pride.<br /><br />Robert William Service<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/charity/
