Road-Song of the Bandar-Log
- Here we go in a flung festoon,
- Half-way up to the jealous moon!
- Don't you envy our pranceful bands?
- Don't you wish you had extra hands?
- Wouldn't you like if your tails were—so—
- Curved in the shape of a Cupid's bow?
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- Now you're angry, but—never mind,
- Brother, thy tail hangs down behind!
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- Here we sit in a branchy row,
- Thinking of beautiful things we know;
- Dreaming of deeds that we mean to do,
- All complete, in a minute or two—
- Something noble and wise and good,
- Done by merely wishing we could.
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- We've forgotten, but—never mind,
- Brother, thy tail hangs down behind!
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- All the talk we ever have heard
- Uttered by bat or beast or bird—
- Hide or fin or scale or feather—
- Jabber it quickly and all together!
- Excellent! Wonderful! Once again!
- Now we are talking just like men!
- Let's pretend we are ... never mind,
- Brother, thy tail hangs down behind!
- This is the way of the Monkey-kind.
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- Then join our leaping lines
- that scumfish through the pines,
- That rocket by where, light and high, the wild grape swings.
- By the rubbish in our wake,
- and the noble noise we make,
- Be sure, be sure, we're going to do some splendid things!
- --oOo-- -