一位自怜的天使从天堂来到一座现代城市。他看见一个乞丐在街上，在交通拥挤的地方。一双黄铜镶边的山核桃木钉子给他带来了便士，而不是腿。他身边的一条狗，贵宾犬，在某种程度上，是他的祖先。天使站在那里，想着这个缠着贵宾犬的乞丐。"我的生活已经变得令人厌烦了，"他说，"一长串的胡闹;我想我要做点好事，换换做天使的身份。”他严肃地走近乞丐，严肃地对他说:“我的朋友，你愿意整天在透明的天空中飞翔吗?敲红酵的门，甚至进入正统的天堂?如果你想知道这种快乐，我将放弃我的工作，承担你的痛苦，收你的钱，像你一样卑微的乞丐。 For ages you these joys may know, While I shall suffer here below; And in the end we both may gain Access of pleasure from my pain.' The stationary vagrant said, 'I do not mind, so go ahead.' The angel told the heavenly charm, He felt a wing on either arm; 'Good-day,' he said, 'this floating's queer If I should want to change next year--?' 'Pull out that feather!' the angel said, 'The one half black and the other half red.' The cripple cried, 'Before you're through You may get fagged, and if you do,--' The angel superciliously-- 'My transformed friend, don't think of me. I shall be happy day and night, In doing what I think is right.' 'So so,' the feathered beggar said, 'Good-bye, I am just overhead.' * * * * * The angel when he grasped the dish, Began to criticize his wish. The seat was hard as granite rocks, His real legs were in the box. His knees were cramped, his shins were sore, The lying pegs stuck out before. In vain he clinked the dish and whined. The passers-by seemed deaf and blind. As pious looking as Saint Denis, An urchin stole his catch-penny. And even the beggar's drab-fleeced poodle Began to know him for a noodle. 'It has an uncelestial scent, The clothing of this mendicant;' He cried, 'That trickling down my spine Is anything but hyaline. This day is like a thousand years: I'd give an age of sighs and tears To see with his confectioned grin One cherub sitting on his chin. That cripple was by far too sly-- I wish he'd tumble from the sky, That things might be as they were before; I really cannot stand much more!' * * * * * The beggar in the angel's guise, Rose far above the smoky skies. But being a beggar, never saw The charm of the compelling law That turned the swinging universe: 'Twas gloomy as an empty purse. Often with heaven in his head, He blundered on a planet dead. And when with an immortal fuss, He singed his wings at Sirius. He plucked the feather with his teeth, The charm was potent and beneath, He saw the turmoil of the way Grown wilder at the close of day, With the sad poodle, can in hand, The angel still at the old stand. 'My friend,' said the angel, hemming and humming, 'Truly I thought you were never coming.' 'That's an unhandsome thing to say, Seeing I've only been gone a day. But there's nothing in all your brazen sky To match the cock of that poodle's eye. Take your dish and give me my wings, 'Tis but a fair exchange of things.' * * * * * The beggar felt his garment's rot, The horn ridge of each callous spot; He clinked his can and was content; His poverty was permanent.