Someone has settled (it's not my fault;

And, whatever we do, let's take some salt)—

Someone has settled, don't you see,

Without referring the thing to me,

That this is a day to be bright and hearty,

And to take our lunch as a picnic party—

To take our lunch with toil and care

Away from home in the open air.

Now I maintain that it can't be right,

When there isn't a single wasp in sight,

To have mint-sauce and a joint of lamb,

Some currant cake and a pot of jam,

A gooseberry tart, with sugar and cream,

And some salad dressing, a bottled dream—

All the things that a wasp loves best

When he buzzes away from his hidden nest;

And you all shout "Wasp!" and flick at the fellow,

And you miss his black and you miss his yellow,

And only succeed in turning over

Your glass of drink on the thirsty clover.

A picnic? Pooh! Why, you merely waste it

When there isn't a wasp to come and taste it.

However, a picnic's got to be,

Though they haven't referred the thing to me.

There's a boat and we put our parcels in it,

And off we push in another minute.

And our pace is certainly rather slow,

For everybody wants to row;

And there's any amount of laugh and chatter,

And crabs are caught, but it doesn't matter;

For we're all afloat

In an open boat,

And the breeze is light and the sky is blue,

And the sun is toasting us through and through.

By a buttercup field we came to land

And every passenger lent a hand

To unload our food and spread it out,

While the cows stood flapping their tails about.

And Peggy as waitress played her part,

And John fell into the gooseberry tart.

I can't explain, though I wish I could,

Why everything tasted twice as good?

As it does at home in the cheerful gloom

Of the old familiar dining-room.

Every picnicky thing was there,

Including the girls and the son and heir,

A red-cheeked frivolous knife-and-fork's crew,

Who hadn't forgotten, oh joy, the corkscrew!

And, last, we furbished our feasting-green,

And left no paper to spoil the scene,

Did up the remains in a tidy pack

And took to our boat and drifted back.

R. C. L.