The woodpecker pecked out a little round hole
And made him a house in the telephone pole.
One day when I watched he poked out his head,
And he had on a hood and a collar of red.
When the streams of rain pour out of the sky,
And the sparkles of lightning go flashing by,
And the big, big wheels of thunder roll,
He can snuggle back in the telephone pole.
I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a gray mist on the sea's face, and a gray dawn breaking.
I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.
I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull's way and the whale's way, where the wind's like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.
I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
That's not my age; it's just not true.
My heart is young; the time just flew.
I'm staring at this strange old face,
And someone else is in my place!
My body's not in disrepair.
I've not much grey in my brown hair.
I sometimes feel a little tired
But go for jogs when I'm inspired.
This old age thing is not for me.
Concessions given, prescriptions free.
I'll just pretend I'm in my prime.
To age too fast would be a crime.
I'm just not 60 in my head.
It's still so long till I am dead,
So please don't see me in that way.
I'm staying young, if that's OK!
The Ballad Of Rum
A dog wandered into our garden one day,
A friendly old mutt, didn’t look like a stray.
We never discovered whence he had come,
But we brushed him and fed him and the kids called him Rum.
Now as family members, even dogs must work hard,
So we put Rum on duty next door in our yard,
Bright eyed and watchful by night and by day,
But not much of a guard dog, I’m sorry to say.
He barked at the cats and he’d bark at a toad,
He barked at the cattle outside on the road,
He barked at the horses – so where did he fail?
You see, Rum liked people, and he just wagged his tail.
He liked the yard labour, an amiable bunch.
They fed our dog tidbits and scraps from their lunch.
Rum wolfed it all down, but to our dismay
He seemed to get fatter with each passing day.
Then one night when Rum was laid at his ease,
A burglar crept in just as quiet as you please.
He saw no alarms, heard no siren howling,
No guard dog for sure, there’d be barking and growling.
But Rum was awake and he’d seen him alright,
Delighted with company this time of the night,
He flew through the yard, his new friend to greet,
And his weight bowled the burglar right off of his feet.
The intruder got up and ran off with a wail
And Rum right behind him still wagging his tail.
He departed the yard he’d come in to burgle
Like a champion athlete clearing a hurdle.
But Rum couldn’t jump gates, so sadly instead
He picked up the thief’s wallet and went back to bed.
Next morning the evidence everyone viewed,
When Rum brought it to us, (just a little bit chewed).
Once given the wallet, the police didn’t fail
To capture the burglar and put him in jail.
His confession like wildfire spread through the town,
How a big vicious guard dog had knocked the thief down.
We all howled with laughter when we heard the story,
And Rum was our hero, he was basking in glory.
There’s been no attempts since to burgle our yard,
For everyone knows now that Rum is on guard.
Come melancholy Moralizer—come!
Gather with me the dark and wintry wreath;
With me engarland now
The SEPULCHRE OF TIME!
Come Moralizer to the funeral song!
I pour the dirge of the Departed Days,
For well the funeral song
Befits this solemn hour.
But hark! even now the merry bells ring round
With clamorous joy to welcome in this day,
This consecrated day,
To Mirth and Indolence.
Mortal! whilst Fortune with benignant hand
Fills to the brim thy cup of happiness,
Whilst her unclouded sun
Illumes thy summer day,
Canst thou rejoice—rejoice that Time flies fast?
That Night shall shadow soon thy summer sun?
That swift the stream of Years
Rolls to Eternity?
If thou hast wealth to gratify each wish,
If Power be thine, remember what thou art—
Remember thou art Man,
And Death thine heritage!
Hast thou known Love? does Beauty's better sun
Cheer thy fond heart with no capricious smile,
Her eye all eloquence,
Her voice all harmony?
Oh state of happiness! hark how the gale
Moans deep and hollow o'er the leafless grove!
Winter is dark and cold—
Where now the charms of Spring?
Sayst thou that Fancy paints the future scene
In hues too sombrous? that the dark-stol'd Maid
With stern and frowning front
Appals the shuddering soul?
And would'st thou bid me court her faery form
When, as she sports her in some happier mood,
Her many-colour'd robes
Dance varying to the Sun?
Ah vainly does the Pilgrim, whose long road
Leads o'er the barren mountain's storm-vext height,
With anxious gaze survey
The fruitful far-off vale.
Oh there are those who love the pensive song
To whom all sounds of Mirth are dissonant!
There are who at this hour
Will love to contemplate!
For hopeless Sorrow hails the lapse of Time,
Rejoicing when the fading orb of day
Is sunk again in night,
That one day more is gone.
And he who bears Affliction's heavy load
With patient piety, well pleas'd he knows
The World a pilgrimage,
The Grave the inn of rest.
