The Tragic Few

We hold bright pennies in our hand,

We pay to hear the penny band,

We laugh and joke and listen well,

And all we hear we tell.

Only we do not dare to beat

A cymbal or a little drum;

Only we dare not come

Too near to all the shouting crowd,

Or sing too loud.

We are the tragic few

Who smile and greet

Each other when we meet,

Cry and kiss each other

When we die...

Oh, but we hold

Avidly to the accustomed mold!

We who are of the earth,

Who dare not fling our yellow pennies high-

We who buy mirth

And pay to hear the penny band

We cannot understand.