I sing a little tale of woe
About a gentle little Doe
That comes into my mind.
It had the habit of surprise,
Besides four legs, two ears, two eyes,
Of which the one was blind.

So it would always grazing be
Close to the cliff beside the sea,
Its good eye landward cast.
For thus it mused: " My danger lurks
In hounds' and hunters' evil works
And not in Ocean's vast. "

But sorrow, sorrow! Boatmen came
By chance, and, taking certain aim,
Did shoot her from the sea;
And as she died, she sobbed and said:
" O I was fearfully misled,
And now I cease to be. "

MORAL

The moral here is literary,
And yet I think it ought to carry:
Had Wordsworth sung this song,
It would have been less energetic,
But surely ten times more pathetic,
And fifty times as long.