Oh, sweet the joys of poetry
In the merry days of spring,
When the dew is on the meadow
And the duck is on the wing!
For 'tis then, from Dan to Dover,
I'm a rover 'mid the clover,
Seeking rhymes the country over
With a ring, sing, swing--
With a ding, dong, ding,
And a ting a ling a ling--
For I'm the rhyming rover of the spring.
Oh, sweet the joys of poetry
In the pleasant summer time!
For 'tis then I have no trouble
To compose my gentle rhyme;
In a nooklet by the brooklet
I can think up quite a booklet,
As with fishing line and hooklet
I assist the fish to climb
To the music of my chime,
For with rollick and with rhyme
I'm the poet of the pleasant summer time.
Oh, sweet the joys of poetry
When any days have come,
When the autumn zephyrs whisper
Or the winter breezes hum!
For 'tis then my thoughts unfurling,
While the smoke goes upward curling,
Come a whirling, swirling, twirling,
With a rumty, tumty, turn,
Come a twirling, swirling, whirling,
Like the rattle of a drum.
Come a whirling, come a swirling;
For in spring or in the summer,
In the autumn or the winter
I'm the rumty, tumty, tummer
That rejoices in the seasons as they come.
Well, when Mr. Rabbit got through everybody sat still for a minute, till
Mr. Dog called out for somebody to come and unwind him so he could get
his breath again. Then they all commenced to laugh and shout and pound
on the table. And Mr. Rabbit coughed and looked pleased and said it was
easy enough to do when you knew how.
[Illustration: LOOKED FOOLISH AND SWALLOWED TWO OR THREE TIMES.]
Then Mr. 'Possum, who was next on the program, said he hoped they'd let
him off this time because he could only think of four lines, and that he
was a better hand at the dinner table than he was at poetry, anyway. But
they wouldn't do it, so he got up and looked foolish and swallowed two
or three times before he could get started.