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?
• Now you're angry, but—never mind,
• Brother, thy tail hangs down behind!
• 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.
• We've forgotten, but—never mind,
• Brother, thy tail hangs down behind!
• 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.
• 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-- -