Classic Poem

Long ago in a poultry yard,
One dull November morn,
Beneath a motherly soft wing
A little goose was born.
Who straightway peeped out of the nest
To view the world beyond,
Longing at once to sally forth
And paddle in the pond.
" Oh, be not rash, " her father said,
A wise, Socratic bird;
Her mother tried to hold her back
By many a warning word.
But little Goosey was perverse,
And eagerly did cry,
" I've got a lively pair of wings;
Of course I'm meant to fly! "
In vain parental cacklings,
In vain the cold world's frown,
Ambitious Goosey tried to soar,
But always tumbled down.
The farmyard jeered at her attempts;
The peacock screamed, " Oh fie!
You're but a plain, domestic fowl,
So don't pretend to fly. "
The ducks and hens said one and all,
In gossip by the pool,
" Our children never play such pranks;
That gosling is a fool. "
Great Cock-a-doodle from his perch
Crowed daily loud and clear,
" Keep to your puddle, silly bird;
That is your proper sphere. "
The owls came out and flew about,
Hooting above the rest,
" No useful egg was ever hatched
In Transcendental nest. "
The little ducklings at their play
And well-conducted chicks,
Were taught to think these aimless flights
But naughty, ill-bred tricks.
They were content to swim and scratch,
And not at all inclined
For any wild-goose chase in search
Of something undefined.
Hard times she had, as one may see,
That young, aspiring bird,
Who still from every fall arose
Saddened, but undeterred.
She knew she was no nightingale,
Yet spite of much abuse,
She longed to help and cheer the world,
Though but a plain, gray goose.
She could not sing, she could not fly,
Nor even walk with grace,
And all the farmyard had declared
A puddle was her place.
But something stronger than herself
Still cried, " Go on, go on!
Remember, though a humble fowl,
You're cousin to the swan. "
So up and down poor Goosey went,
A busy, hopeful bird;
Searched many wide, unfruitful fields,
And many waters stirred.
At length she came unto a stream,
Most fertile of all Niles,
Where romancers' frail paper boats
Sailed safe to happy isles.
Here did she make a little nest,
Secluded, warm and still,
Where the parental birds might rest
Unvexed by any bill.
And here she paused to fold her wings
After her many plagues:
When suddenly there rose a cry —
" This goose lays golden eggs! "
Then all the farmyard was agog,
The ducks began to quack,
Prim Guinea fowls relenting called,
" Dear thing, come back, come back! "
Great Chanticleer was pleased to give
A patronizing crow;
And once-contemptuous biddies clucked,
" Would that our chicks did so. "
The peacocks spread their shining tails,
And cried in accents soft,
" We long to know you, gifted one,
Come sit with us aloft. "
The owls awoke and gravely said,
With proudly swelling breasts,
" Rare birds have always been evolved
From Transcendental nests. "
News-hunting turkeys from afar
Now ran with all their legs
To gather facts and fictions of
The goose with golden eggs.
But best of all, the little fowls,
Still playing by the shore,
Soft downy chicks and goslings gay,
Chirped out, " Dear goose, lay more. "
But Goosey all these weary years
Had toiled like any ant,
And so was forced to make reply,
" My little friends, I can't.
When I was starving, half this corn
Had been of vital use;
Now I am surfeited with food
Like any Strasburg goose.
I am no eagle strong of wing
To soar up to the sun,
I'm but a humble, barnyard fowl
Whose work is nearly done. "
But still from East and West there came
From literary birds
Demands for autographs and tales
Couched in persuasive words.
Advice was wanted, money, help
For woes both great and small;
One weary head and heart and claw
Could never answer all.
And so the invalided fowl,
With grateful thanks profuse,
Plucked from her wing a quill and wrote
This Lay of a Golden Goose.