Down there at Ducklington

The ducks are never old;

The geese are always goslings,

The catkins always gold.

The orchards blossom ever

Like foam heaped on a cup,

Down there at Ducklington

Where never a duck grows up!

Down there at Ducklington

The years linger yet

At April, with its little leaves

And ash-buds of jet.

And I could be a child again

And drink, as from a cup,

Youth, down at Ducklington,

Where never a duck grows up!

Down there at Ducklington,

With its ducklings ever young,

With its year ever at April,

And the songs of June unsung—

The potion of eternal youth

Is brewed there in a cup—

Down there at Ducklington

Where never a duck grows up!