Robert William Service
Blind Peter Piper used to play
All up and down the city;
I'd often meet him on my way,
And throw a coin for pity.
But all amid his sparkling tones
His ear was quick as any
To catch upon the cobble-stones
The jingle of my penny.
And as upon a day that shone
He piped a merry measure:
"How well you play!" I chanced to say;
Poor Peter glowed with pleasure.
You'd think the words of praise I spoke
Were all the pay he needed;
The artist in the player woke,
The penny lay unheeded.
Now Winter's here; the wind is shrill,
His coat is thin and tattered;
Yet hark! he's playing trill on trill
As if his music mattered.
And somehow though the city looks
Soaked through and through with shadows,
He makes you think of singing brooks
And larks and sunny meadows.
Poor chap! he often starves, they say;
Well, well, I can believe it;
For when you chuck a coin his way
He'll let some street-boy thieve it.
I fear he freezes in the night;
My praise I've long repented,
Yet look! his face is all alight . . .
Blind Peter seems contented.
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Poor Peter by Robert William Service )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
William Ernest Henley
- It is what it is, The Princess
- hey stickshift, it's like this..., Mandolyn ...
- Dreams, Tony Adah
- Godlike, Lawrence Beck
- Commodore Lionel B. Richie, Richard Thripp
- Her Kindness Is Real, Nihil Existentia
- TRAITORS خونة - خائنين, MOHAMMAD SKATI
- I Will Bathe My Dreams, Kyle Schlicher
- For what is my purpose?, The Princess
- Mother. Mother., beresford mitchell