TO ONE EXCUSING HIS POVERTY <br />Ah! love, impute it not to me a sin <br />That my poor soul thus beggared comes to thee. <br />My soul a pilgrim was, in search of thine, <br />And met these accidents by land and sea. <br />The world was hard, and took its usury, <br />Its toll for each new night in each new inn; <br />And every road had robber bands to fee; <br />And all, even kindness, must be paid in coin. <br />Behold my scrip is empty, my heart bare. <br />I give thee nothing who my all would give. <br />My pilgrimage is finished, and I fare <br />Bare to my death, unless with thee I live. <br />Ah! give, love, and forgive that I am poor. <br />Ah! take me to thy arms and ask no more.<br /><br />Wilfrid Scawen Blunt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-love-sonnets-of-proteus-part-iii-gods-and-false-gods-lxi/
