Pink was the shell within,
Silver without;
Sounds of the great sea
Wandered about.
Sleep little ladies!
Wake not soon!
Echo on echo
Dies to the moon.
Two bright stars
Peep'd into the shell,
What are they dreaming of?
Who can tell?
Started a green linnet
Out of the croft;
Wake, little ladies,
The sun is aloft!
_Lord Tennyson_.
THE MAYOR OF SCUTTLETON
The Mayor of Scuttleton burned his nose
Trying to warm his copper toes;
He lost his money and spoiled his will
By signing his name with an icicle quill;
He went bareheaded, and held his breath,
And frightened his grandame most to death;
He loaded a shovel and tried to shoot,
And killed the calf in the leg of his boot;
He melted a snowbird and formed the habit
Of dancing jigs with a sad Welsh rabbit;
He lived on taffy and taxed the town;
And read his newspaper upside down;
Then he sighed and hung his hat on a feather,
And bade the townspeople come together;
But the worst of it all was, nobody knew
What the Mayor of Scuttleton next would do.
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