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of Little Miss Muffet
and the Gullible Raven
May Go Back On a Chap
& the Inventive Bratling
Came To Be Eaten
& a Poet Was Booted
Disposed of Her Shoe
Blue-Beard Made Free
with a Door
in Vain for a Bonus
& Her Suitor was Suited
The Pretentious Hare
Ships Come In
A rivulet gabbled beside her and babbled,
Albeit unsightly, this creature politely
This curious error completed her terror;
And the Moral is this: Be it madam or miss
A RAVEN sat upon a tree,
And not a word he spoke, for
His beak contained a piece of Brie,
Or, maybe, it was Roquefort:
We ll make it any kind you please
At all events, it was a cheese.
Beneath the trees umbrageous limb
A hungry fox sat smiling;
He saw the raven watching him,
And spoke in words beguiling:
J admire, said he, ton beau plumage,
(The which was simply persiflage).
Two things there are, no doubt you know,
To which a fox is used,
A rooster that is bound to crow,
A crow that s bound to roost,
And whichsoever he espies
He tells the most unblushing lies.
Sweet fowl, he said, I understand
You re more than merely natty:
I hear you sing to beat the band
And Adelina Patti.
Pray render with your liquid tongue
A bit from Götterdämmerung.
This subtle speech was aimed to please
The crow, and it succeeded:
He thought no bird in all the trees
Could sing as well as he did.
In flattery completely doused,
He gave the Jewel Song from Faust.
But gravitations law, of course,
As Isaac Newton showed it,
Exerted on the cheese its force,
And elsewhere soon bestowed it.
In fact, there is no need to tell
What happened when to earth it fell.
I blush to add that when the bird
Took in the situation
He said one brief, emphatic word,
Unfit for publication.
The fox was greatly startled, but
He only sighed and answered Tut!
THE MORAL is: A fox is bound
To be a shameless sinner.
And also: When the cheese comes round
You know its after dinner.
But (what is only known to few)
The fox is after dinner, too.
Whene'er she read the papers
She had a yearning chronic
She was nervous, cataleptic,
Now all of this bemoaning
Each hour in accents morbid
But Jack, no panic showing,
That hollow-hearted creature
But then he wabbled loosely
The Moral is that gardeners pine
Looking downward at a church in
Then the boy, annoyed distinctly
Then he tried his bow, and, stringing
"Bird of freedom," quoth the urchin,
And THE MORAL is that pride is
It thus isn't strange
At eleven this lass
Not dreaming of harm
She expected to find
At this terrible tale
The Moral: There's nothing much glummer
His time he used to pass
The poet, cent by cent,
On her boot she fixed her eye,
"If I should live to be
She was jarred and very sore
I could fill up half the page
The Moral of the plot
Yet, truth to tell, the swains were few
Each night to dances and to fetes
"I'll now," she added, with a frown,
Wall-flowers, when thus compared with her,
At ten o'clock, in discontent,
The Moral: All the girls on earth
(Considering her beauty,
When business would necessitate
It may be mentioned, casually,
This feeling insalubrious
Blue-Beard, the Monday following,
His wife made but a cursory
For, all her curiosity
Then started hack impulsively,
Perceiving she was fated to
But only from her battlement
She had to wash the windows, and
But though these tasks were quite enough,
But when the earl went down the stair
The girl observed: "How very nice
As by this tale you have been grieved
The Moral is: All said and done,
He taught him some Raleigh,
"For these are the giants
By the time he was twenty
He'd thunder and grumble
And this is The Moral that lies in the verse:
The blonde one learned to play the harp,
The dark one wore an air of gloom,
One day the blonde was striding past
The maiden filled her trembling palms
It happened that the cross brunette,
And so it was, the cheerful blonde
The cross brunette the fairy's joke
The Moral of the tale is: Bah!
A significant sign
John Jeremy Platt
F. Ferdinand Fife
Miss Guinevere Platt
But the beautiful wife
He repented too late,
The Moral: Predicaments often are found
In Charming's principality
His ringing was so vehement
With torpor reprehensible,
Aroused from her paralysis,
The Moral: When affairs go ill
One fine day, as was his habit,
This, of course, was banter merely,
Shouthing, "Terrapin, you're bested!
Now this sporting proposition
Plodding on, he shortly made the
And the Moral (lest you miss one) is:
There's often time to spare,
TO eastward ringing, to westward winging, oer mapless miles of sea,
On winds and tides the gospel rides that the furthermost isles are free,
And the furthermost isles make answer, harbor, and height, and hill,
Breaker and beach cry each to each, T is the Mother who calls! Be still!
Mother! new-found, beloved, and strong to hold from harm,
Stretching to these across the seas the shield of her sovereign arm,
Who summoned the guns of her sailor sons, who bade her navies roam,
Who calls again to the leagues of main, and who calls them this time home!
And the great gray ships are silent, and the weary watchers rest,
The black cloud dies in the August skies, and deep in the golden west
Invisible hands are limning a glory of crimson bars,
And far above is the wonder of a myriad wakened stars!
Peace! As the tidings silence the strenuous cannonade,
Peace at last! is the bugle blast the length of the long blockade,
And eyes of vigil weary are lit with the glad release,
From ship to ship and from lip to lip it is Peace! Thank God for peace.
Ah, in the sweet hereafter Columbia still shall show
The sons of these who swept the seas how she bade them rise and go,
How, when the stirring summons smote on her childrens ear,
South and North at the call stood forth, and the whole land answered, Here!
For the soul of the soldiers story and the heart of the sailors song
Are all of those who meet their foes as right should meet with wrong,
Who fight their guns till the foeman runs, and then, on the decks they trod,
Brave faces raise, and give the praise to the grace of their countrys God!
Yes, it is good to battle, and good to be strong and free,
To carry the hearts of a people to the uttermost ends of sea,
To see the day steal up the bay where the enemy lies in wait,
To run your ship to the harbors lip and sink her across the strait:
But better the golden evening when the ships round heads for home,
And the long gray miles slip swiftly past in a swirl of seething foam,
And the people wait at the havens gate to greet the men who win!
Thank God for peace! Thank God for peace, when the great gray ships come in!
Guy Wetmore Carryl (18731904) was an American humorist and poet
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