e only looked like a Beggar-man,
As ragged, just, as any.
But he might have been an Angel, too.
So I gave him my penny.
I waited, till I thought I saw
Him shining through. And when he
Held out his hand, I watched for what
Would happen to my penny.
He might have been an Angel, too!
But I know he wasn't any.
For he frowned at me, like that, you see,
When it wasn't but One penny.
And now that's gone; and I don't care.
I'd rather not have any,
Than keep it, if an Angel came
And asked me for my penny.
The Green Singing-Book
don't know how to read the words,
Nor how the black things go.
But if you stand it up, and sing,
You never have to know.
The music sounds alike each time
When grown-up people play;
But every time I sing, myself,
It sounds a different way.