The keyholes to the right of me
Were dancing of a jig,
The keyholes to the left of me
Were merry as a grig,
The keyholes right before my face
Were drunk and winked at me,
And I stood there alone—alone!—
With one
small
key.

They frightened me, they daunted me;
I turned back to the stair,
And faced nine keyholes pale and stern
That lay in ambush there.
Six keyholes on the ceiling sat,
Eight keyholes on the door,
And seven saddened keyholes lay
Hiccoughing
on the
floor.

I crawled through one, I crawled through two,
I crawled through keyholes three—
And then I saw a vistaed mile
Of keyholes waiting me!—
“I will not crawl another yard
Through keyholes, though I die!”—
Oh, when my fighting blood is up
A Turk
am.

They leapt at me, they flew at me,
They whistled as they came,
They gritted of their gleaming teeth,
They stung and spurted flame;
I put my back against the floor
And fought 'em gallantly—?
But what could anybody do
With one
small
key?

Keyholes at the front of me,
And keyholes on the flank,
And as they rushed at me I smelled
The liquor that they drank;
Keyholes on my spinal cord,
And keyholes in my hair—
And with a “Heave together, boys!”
They rolled
me down
the stair.

It bumped me some, it bent me some,
It broke a nose or two,
And when the milkman came, he said:
“What Kaiser Belgiumed you?”
I says to him: “It might have been
The same with you as me
If you like me had had to fight
A gang of keyholes all last night
With one
small
key!”