Classic Poem

I

I HAVE a pipe of oaten straw,
 I play upon it when I may,
And the music that I draw
 Is as happy as the day.

It has seven holes, and I
 Play upon it high and low;
I can make it laugh and cry,
 I can make it banish woe.

Any tune you like to name
 I will play it at the word,
Old or new is all the same,
 I'm as ready as a bird.

No one pipes so happily,
 Not a piper can succeed
When I lean against a tree
 Blowing gently on my reed.

II

But there is a tune, and though
 I try to play it day and night,
Blowing high and blowing low,
 I can never get it right.

I know the tune without a flaw,
 And yet that tune I cannot play
On my pipe of oaten straw,
 Though I practise night and day.

It seems to me I never will
 Play again the happy air
Which I heard upon a hill
 When the Shee were dancing there.

Little pipe! be good to me!
 And play the tune I want to play,
Or I will smash you on a tree,
 And throw your wicked halves away.