THE DOORLESS WOLF
I saw, one day, when times were very good,
A newly rich man walking in a wood,
Who chanced to meet, all hungry, lean, and sore,
The wolf that used to sit outside his door.
Forlorn he was, and piteous his plaint.
“Help me!” he howled. “With hunger I am faint.
It is so long since I have seen a door—
And you are rich, and you have many score.
When you’d but one, I sat by it all day;
Now you have many, I am turned away.
Help me, good sir, once more to find a place.
Prosperity now stares me in the face.”
The newly rich man, jingling all the while
The silver in his pocket, smiled a smile:
He saw a way the wolf could be of use.
“Good wolf,” said he, “you’re going to the deuce,—
The dogs, I mean,—and that will never do;
I think I’ve found a way to see you through.”
“I too have worries. Ever since I met
Prosperity I have been sore beset
By begging letters, charities, and cranks,
All very short in gold and long in thanks.
Now, if you’ll come and sit by my front door
From eight o’clock each morning, say, till four,
Then every one will think that I am poor,
And from their pesterings I’ll be secure.
Do you accept?” The wolf exclaimed, “I do!”
The rich man smiled; the wolf smiled; I smiled, too,
And in my little book made haste to scrawl:
“Thus affluence makes niggards of us all!”