A Nonsense Anthology Part 6

THE MOON IS UP

The moon is up, the moon is up!

The larks begin to fly, And, like a drowsy b.u.t.tercup, Dark Phoebus skims the sky, The elephant, with cheerful voice, Sings blithely on the spray; The bats and beetles all rejoice, Then let me, too, be gay.

I would I were a porcupine, And wore a peac.o.c.k's tail; To-morrow, if the moon but s.h.i.+ne, Perchance I'll be a whale.

Then let me, like the cauliflower, Be merry while I may, And, ere there comes a sunny hour To cloud my heart, be gay!

_Anonymous_.

'TIS MIDNIGHT

'Tis midnight, and the setting sun Is slowly rising in the west; The rapid rivers slowly run, The frog is on his downy nest.

The pensive goat and sportive cow, Hilarious, leap from bough to bough.

_Anonymous_.

UPRISING SEE THE FITFUL LARK

Uprising see the fitful lark Unfold his pinion to the stream; The pensive watch-dog's mellow bark O'ershades yon cottage like a dream: The playful duck and warbling bee Hop gayly on, from tree to tree!

How calmly could my spirit rest Beneath yon primrose bell so blue, And watch those airy oxen drest In every tint of pearling hue!

As on they hurl the gladsome plough, While fairy zephyrs deck each brow!

_Anonymous_.

LIKE TO THE THUNDERING TONE

Like to the thundering tone of unspoke speeches, Or like a lobster clad in logic breeches, Or like the gray fur of a crimson cat, Or like the mooncalf in a slipshod hat; E'en such is he who never was begotten Until his children were both dead and rotten.

Like to the fiery tombstone of a cabbage, Or like a crab-louse with its bag and baggage, Or like the four square circle of a ring, Or like to hey ding, ding-a, ding-a, ding; E'en such is he who spake, and yet, no doubt, Spake to small purpose, when his tongue was out.

Like to a fair, fresh, fading, wither'd rose, Or like to rhyming verse that runs in prose, Or like the stumbles of a tinder-box, Or like a man that's sound yet sickness mocks; E'en such is he who died and yet did laugh To see these lines writ for his epitaph.

_Bishop Corbet in 17th century_.

MY DREAM

I dreamed a dream next Tuesday week, Beneath the apple-trees; I thought my eyes were big pork-pies, And my nose was Stilton cheese.

The clock struck twenty minutes to six, When a frog sat on my knee; I asked him to lend me eighteenpence, But he borrowed a s.h.i.+lling of me.

_Anonymous_.

MY HOME

My home is on the rolling deep, I spend my time a-feeding sheep; And when the waves on high are running, I take my gun and go a-gunning.

I shoot wild ducks down deep snake-holes, And drink gin-sling from two-quart bowls.

_Anonymous_.

IN IMMEMORIAM

We seek to know, and knowing seek; We seek, we know, and every sense Is trembling with the great intense, And vibrating to what we speak.

We ask too much, we seek too oft; We know enough and should no more; And yet we skim through Fancy's lore, And look to earth and not aloft.

O Sea! whose ancient ripples lie On red-ribbed sands where seaweeds shone; O moon! whose golden sickle's gone, O voices all! like you I die!

_Cuthbert Bede_.

THE HIGHER PANTHEISM IN A NUTSh.e.l.l

One, who is not, we see; but one, whom we see not, is; Surely, this is not that; but that is a.s.suredly this.

What, and wherefore, and whence: for under is over and under; If thunder could be without lightning, lightning could be without thunder.

Doubt is faith in the main; but faith, on the whole, is doubt; We cannot believe by proof; but could we believe without?

Why, and whither, and how? for barley and rye are not clover; Neither are straight lines curves; yet over is under and over.

One and two are not one; but one and nothing is two; Truth can hardly be false, if falsehood cannot be true.