A Street Fiddler.
I play my fiddle. Men pass by
Or stare at me with glances cold.
I give them joy of earth and sky,
And they grow young, as I grow old.
Hope, idleness, and sunny skies,
These are the little tunes I play.
The fiddle sings: the fool grows wise,
The fiddle twangs: the dull are gay.
Louis Esson, Red Gums and Other Verses, Melbourne: Fraser & Jenkinson, 1912, page 45