Classic Poem

Old Morgan had a lovely harp,
But he was no musician.
One day a man called at his door
Upon a curious mission.

“I'm very hungry,” said the man,
“Just hear my tummy rumble.”
“Come in,” said Morgan, “take a seat,
I'm not the man to grumble.”

“I've eaten nothing,” said the man,
“I'm as empty as a drum.”
“Sit down,” said Morgan, “rest yourself,
And please don't suck your thumb.

“Here's bread and cheese and butter,
And the kettle singing sweetly.
We'll make a cup of tea,” said he,
As he spread the cloth on neatly.

And so the stranger ate his fill,
And Morgan he ate with him,
“Play me a tune,” said the stranger,
And Morgan groaned within him.

Then sitting down beside his harp
He made his sad confession.
“I love my lovely harp,” he said,
“But I am no musician.

“My music isn't fit to hear,
The noise I make's outrageous,
My fingers won't do what I want,
My thumbs are most rampageous.”

“What is your dearest wish, sir?”
Said the stranger most benignly.
“To play my harp,” said Morgan,
“I'd like to play divinely.”

“I must be off,” said the stranger,
“I really cannot linger.
You've been most kind to me,” said he,
And he touched the harp with his finger.

And then the stranger vanished quite,
He vanished in a twinkling.
Old Morgan rubbed his wond'ring eyes,
And then he fell a-thinking.

But when his fingers touched the strings
The liquid notes came dancing,
And all the neighbours crowded in—
The music was entrancing.