He came by, wanting to speak with me on a downtown street,
That poorly dressed man, a beggar by trade, as shown in his face,
Who gets along with me and I with him;
And I, in a mutual, wide, effusive gesture, gave him all I had
(Except, of course, what was in my pocket where I have got more money:
I'm not stupid, nor a busy Russian novelist,
And as for Romanticism, yes, but in small doses . . .)

I have a soft spot for people like that,
Especially when they don't deserve it.