And everyone will say,
As you walk your flowery way,
"If he's content with a vegetable love which would certainly not
suit _me_,
Why, what a most particularly pure young man
this pure young man must be!"
PROPER PRIDE.
The Sun, whose rays
Are all ablaze
With ever living glory,
Does not deny
His majesty--
He scorns to tell a story!
He don't exclaim
"I blush for shame,
So kindly be indulgent,"
But, fierce and bold,
In fiery gold,
He glories all effulgent!
I mean to rule the earth.
As he the sky--
We really know our worth,
The Sun and I!
Observe his flame,
That placid dame,
The Moon's Celestial Highness;
There's not a trace
Upon her face
Of diffidence or shyness:
She borrows light
That, through the night,
Mankind may all acclaim her!
And, truth to tell,
She lights up well,
So I, for one, don't blame her!
Ah, pray make no mistake,
We are not shy;
We're very wide awake,
The Moon and I!
THE BAFFLED GRUMBLER.
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