IT’S I live in a very wise town

As all wise people know:

They read, they write, they read all day

As orchard-trees do grow.

Said I,—I was a young thing then,

And a foolish young thing, too,—

“I will not spend my little life thus;

There’s much I’d rather do.

“For I would rather look at you

This way, with happy looks,

Than lose the stars from my two eyes

With poring over books.

“I’d rather far be red and white

For stupid folks to see

Than write nine books for little dull worms

To eat them, leisurely.

“And I would rather have it said

When all my days are through,

‘O she was good to see and hear

And say Good-morning to!’

“When learning makes you white and red

And fresh as west-winds blow,

I may spend sun and candle-light

“But O, the wise in this wise town,

They have no longer prime.

And there are fewer wise men, now,

Than once upon a time!”