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A SEASONABLE MORAL, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: The woman sang her ballad to the sky
Last Line: The chance is such as you ought not to take.
Alternate Author Name(s): Howells, W. D.
Subject(s): Begging & Beggars; Gifts & Giving; Good Samaritan; Grief; Sorrow; Sadness


The woman sang her ballad to the sky
Of the keen Christmas night, flinging on high
The notes that fluttered to my window-pane
Like birds, and beat against the glass in vain
Until I opened, and from out the gloom
Let them flock into my snug, firelit room.

There was no more of meaning in the words
That came than in the jargoning of birds,
But in the voice, and in the plaintive air
There was an intimation of despair
From killing sorrow, and the appealing cry
Of sorest need, which no man might deny
And cover from himself his own disgrace.
So, thoughtfully, as one does in such a case,
From among several coins in hand I chose
That of the smallest worth, and wrapped it close
In paper, so that it might not be lost,
Striking the frozen ground below, and tossed
My gift dwon from the window at the feet
Of the poor singer in the wintry street.

But she, as if she neither saw nor heard,
Rapt in her song, sang on, and never stirred,
While one, that opportunely strolled around
The corner nearest her, both heard and saw,
Stooped, and put out a predatory claw,
And clutched the paper; felt and recognized
The coin within (that somehow suddenly sized
My own soul up to me, in an odd way),
And then deliberately, but without stay
For all my frantic shouts and signs, kept on
To the next corner, turned it, and was gone.

What should I do? Let the poor singer go
Unhelped because of this misdeed? Not so!
Such a conclusion even I could not brook,
A coin of the same worth again I took,
Wrapped it again in paper, and again
Tossed it down to the singer—not in vain,
This time! She saw it coming through the air
And heard it fall upon the ground, and there,
While she still sang, curtseyed her thanks to me,
Until I turned away and left her free.

And I was well content, and glad at heart
For having doubly done a noble part?
I was not sure. Had it been heaven's intent
That I should twice give the sum I had meant
To give but once? Perchance, unknown to me
Both women were in equal misery,
Though not of equal merit. Then, had I won
A twofold blessing by what I had done?

These things are mysteries, but my story's moral
Seems one with which no one can justly quarrel:
If there is suffering that you would relieve,
Give twice the sum at once you meant to give;
And do not wait for wrong to come your way
And force your unwilling hand, for though it may,
Again, it may not, and, for your own sake,
The chance is such as you ought not to take.





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