Poems (Howard)/A Keepsake

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A Keepsake.
With treasures so dear that words cannot portray  How much of my life they enfold, Are two silver dollars, safe hidden away,  More precious than jewels or gold, In the innermost space of an odorous drawer, In the labyrinth haunts of my escritoire.
If thousands of others just like them were mine,  Bright disks of the currency art, Like beautiful offerings laid on a shrine,  I 'd solemnly keep them apart, As sacred to one, whose beneficent hand More bountiful was than I dared to demand.
I argued one day how much butter and bread  They would buy—it was only a whim—For then I remembered the donor, and said  I 'd keep them—mementoes of him. Oh, may he live long and prosperity know, And Earth for his sake wear her loveliest glow!
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I wish I were pious enough to bring down  A blessing direct from the skies! It should not go begging all over the town  For some one in heavenly guise To claim the dear boon; upon him it should rest By whom are the needy made happy and blest.

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